


Right Place, Right Time

by rummy_cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate, Fluff and Smut, Heterosexual Sex, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are best friends, No Incest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Jaime Lannister, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa Stark, POV Tywin Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummy_cat/pseuds/rummy_cat
Summary: The day Sansa quits her job at Stag Enterprises, she meets Tywin Lannister who is impressed by her and offers her a chance to prove herself. Sansa proves to be more than capable, and she and Tywin find they are not just compatible in the conference room but in their personal lives as well.A modern Tywin/Sansa romanceAged up Sansa (~28 while Tywin is ~57)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tywin Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 62
Kudos: 316
Collections: Fave_Fanfics_Rereads





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note my Sansa is savvier than book Sansa, because A) she is aged up and B) these are modern times. Anyone who's watched more than 10 seconds of "news" in her lifetime can't possibly believe life is a fairy tale. 
> 
> Unlike my other fics, this one should be relatively short and sweet - under 50K words I'm estimating.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Beefeater and tonic please.”

Tywin heard her voice before he saw her. He was tucked into the corner booth of the posh hotel bar at noon on a Tuesday. It was empty save for Tywin and the bartender until she walked in and sat at one of the high-top tables. She was facing away from him and didn’t seem to notice him as she walked in in the midst of a conversation on her cell phone.

She immediately set down her leather briefcase and blazer on one of the chairs and pulled out a Surface tablet. She had paused the conversation just long enough to order her drink which was brought over promptly since the bartender had little else to do.

Sipping his scotch, Tywin listened from the corner while keeping his eyes glued to his own netbook.

“For someone with such a giant stick up his ass, you’d think Bolton would be able to act professionally for one meeting.”

 _Is she talking about Roose Bolton?_ If she was, Tywin wondered to the nature of their business relationship. Bolton was an investor from the north who bought and incubated startups and then sold them once they were viable companies. He was also a well-known prick.

The person on the other end of the line made some comment that made the girl chuckle, “Well, we were at 9% -- that’s the highest I’m willing to go. He wanted eleven originally, you know. But I wouldn’t budge from nine and you know what that jerk said to me? He said, “since you like the number nine so much, I’ve got nine inches for you.””

Tywin grimaced at the woman’s retelling of the tasteless and crude comment but continued to listen to her conversation – the one side he could hear...

“I know, right? God, if I hadn’t been so shocked, I would have called his bluff; offered a point for every inch he’s got. He’d be lucky to get 6%.”

Tywin snorted to himself; that the woman could joke around after being sexually harassed showed her moxie. He wondered what the person on the phone thought of all this but could only imagine it was amusement as the woman chuckled then responded, “Hey I call it a win-win. I either get the deal below 9%, or I get to enjoy nine-plus inches of Mr. Bolton...” She huffed, “Of course I’m joking. God, I’m not that desperate. He gives off a definite Hannibal Lecter vibe; I don’t even like being alone with him in an office with a couple dozen people on the other side of the door.”

Suddenly she looked down to her phone then put it back to her ear, “Fuck, Jon. That’s Dr. Lecter on the other line. … Yeah, I’ll call you later.”

The woman switched over to take the call, “Mr. Bolton. I must say I’m surprised to receive a call from you less than an hour after you stormed out of our meeting. If you’re trying to sweat me out you should have waited at least twenty-four hours.”

_Hmpf, good for you, girl._

The woman let out an audible sigh, “Yes, I’m still in town, but frankly I’m not sure what another meeting will accomplish. I will not go above 9% unless you’re willing to renegotiate the cash payment.”

She chuckled sardonically at whatever the man had said before responding, “There is no need to run this by Stan, I know what his answer will be. But perhaps if you prefer to hear ‘no’ from a man instead of a woman…”

Tywin laughed to himself again. He liked this girl. She talked tough and didn’t let men take advantage of her.

She stood up to fish something out of her briefcase, giving Tywin a perfect view of her. She wore a high-waisted, gray pencil skirt and a light blue sleeveless silk blouse. Her hips were heavenly, and what little he could see of her legs told him they were slim and long. She had red hair twisted into a tidy updo. She was dressed very professionally but she had a figure that was impossible to hide, short of wearing a flour sack.

Finding what she was looking for she pushed a Bluetooth earpiece into her ear so she could speak hands-free. She was quiet while Bolton on the other end of the line was probably giving her an earful.

She finished her drink and gave a friendly hand signal to the bartender that she wanted a refill. As she sat back waiting for her second drink, she began plucking bobby pins from her hair until a curtain of auburn silk tumbled down to nearly the small of her back. Tywin had always been partial to blonds, but this woman’s hair was nothing short of enchanting, capturing the dim light of the bar and contrasting beautifully against her ivory skin.

“Mr. Bolton, with respect, it seems as if this will be a waste of both our time if we are at our upper and lower limits, respectively. I would—”

The man had interrupted her, and Tywin could see her subtly shake her head.

“It’s a free country, Mr. Bolton. If you insist on continuing the discussion, fine. I’m at the bar of the Regency Hotel, downtown. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

_Like he’ll last that long._

She ended the call just as her drink was brought over. The bartender, Tom, who probably could read her body language, gave her a sympathetic smile. Tywin knew the man somewhat, as he stayed in this bar any time he came to King’s Landing for business.

The woman spoke up, “Any chance you’re hiring? I’m considering a change of career.”

Tom snickered, “That bad, huh?”

“Not always, but this time… _definitely_.”

“Don’t feel too badly, miss. Bars have their share of bad customers, too.”

“I bet, but you get to bounce them out when they misbehave. Not an option in my line of work, unfortunately.”

“True enough, miss. One of the best parts of the job!”

The woman giggled, “Thanks for the laugh. I needed it. Tell me, is it always this bloody humid in this city? No matter what season I come here it is always hot and muggy.”

She fanned herself with a cardboard coaster, and Tywin had a strange desire to know what her sweat tasted like.

“Oh it’s not the weather, it’s the hot air from all the entitled pricks who come here to do business.”

She threw her head back and chuckled, “True enough, mister” she echoed his earlier words, “I fear I’m one of them, and I’m afraid my soon-to-be companion will have you cranking up the A/C.”

“Oh you’re not one of them miss, trust me. If you can crack a smile, you’re not one of them.”

Tywin briefly wondered if Tom thought _he_ was full of hot air, though why he suddenly cared what a bartender thought of him was a mystery.

With a smile still on his face Tom made his way to the corner where Tywin sat. He didn’t need to ask; he knew that Tywin was ready for a refill.

A few minutes later, Roose Bolton walked in and headed straight to the woman who stood up respectfully but stiffly to greet him.

“Mr. Bolton.”

“Sansa.”

_Sansa? Why does that name sound familiar?_

Tywin knew of Roose Bolton, though they’d never dealt with each other directly. Tywin leaned out of sight, fairly certain that Roose would recognize him. Though Tywin was a very private man he was well known in the business world. It had been over a decade since he did any interviews, but anyone who read Forbes, Business Week, or other business periodicals in the eighties, nineties, or early 2000s would recognize him. When he turned fifty – seven years ago – he decided he had nothing more to prove. He was one of the world’s wealthiest men, and he was tired of having random men and women try to endear themselves with him to get after his money or pitch some idea with the hopes of landing him as an investor. He had slowed down his schedule, sitting back and letting his wise investments earn money for him. Then again, for Tywin Lannister, slowing down meant working a normal forty-hour work week instead of seventy.

The only problem was that working less meant realizing how lonely he was, not that he would ever use such a pathetic word to describe himself. He had intentionally alienated himself from two of his children – his daughter and youngest son – and the extent of his love life was the rare one-night stand with a wealthy widow or, when he had the inclination, a young cocktail waitress.

Nor did Tywin have much in the way of friends. He had _associates_ – men who he would occasionally dine or play tennis with, but he wouldn’t call any of them friends. The closest he had to friends were his younger brother, Kevan, and his driver-slash-bodyguard, Addam. Kevan and his wife Dorna, along with Tywin’s eccentric sister Genna, lived in estates near his own Casterly Rock, and they dined together every Sunday evening. Kevan and Tywin worked together at Tywin’s company, Casterly Inc., so they also saw each other frequently at the office.

He tuned back into the conversation, taking the chance to slide over enough to see the exchange out of the corner of his eye.

Roose spoke firmly, “I’m willing to go down to 9.5% but no lower.”

“Fine – _if_ we renegotiate the cash outlay. You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Bolton. The company’s marketing is nonexistent. You have a technology patent that will expire in eleven years, and it will take us two years to develop any type of market traction.”

“Sansa, nine years of market dominance—”

“In a market we must _build_ , Mr. Bolton before we can possibly dominate it.”

“Please, call me Roose.”

She ignored the man’s request, “As I was saying, Mr. Bolton, there simply isn’t enough upside for us to budge on the numbers.”

“Not enough upside? This is a pure greenfield opportunity! You can create a market here.”

“Agreed; but creating a market is expensive and time-consuming. We don’t just need to market the product and brand; we need to convince the target market that they need and want this product. Creating demand is not easy, as I’m sure you know.”

“Sansa, you underestimate yourself,” the man spoke in a low voice, “I’m sure you’re quite capable of making people _want_ something…”

_God you’re pathetic, Bolton…_

The woman didn’t take the bait, instead sighing, “I don’t work in marketing or sales, Mr. Bolton, I work in M&A.”

“Then Stannis doesn’t know how to best utilize his _assets_.”

 _Stannis Baratheon? The girl works for Stannis?_ Stannis owned Stag Enterprises out of Storm’s End. They were a behemoth in aviation, aerospace, and logistics technology and software. Stannis was a stern man, difficult to please. If this woman worked for him, then she was one of the best in her domain.

She sighed, “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so. Now can we return to the discussion at hand?”

“There is nothing to return to. I have other offers on the table – _better_ offers.”

_Bullshit._

“If that is the case, then I encourage you to accept one of those offers,” she said firmly.

“Well, perhaps I’d rather do business with Stag. I’ve developed this product and I want to see it in the best possible hands.”

“You didn’t develop the product; you developed the company. The engineers you bought out developed the product.”

“Fine. I’d rather do business with _you_ then, Sansa.”

Tywin knew where this was going. The girl was doing her best to ignore Roose’s inuendo, but he was getting more persistent.

“You and I won’t be working together, Roose, as you know. Once this contract is signed and after we go through the final signing in front of the lawyers, you won’t be working with me or anyone else at Stag.”

Roose leaned forward, “9.5% and cash payout stays as-is. Do we have a deal, Sansa?”

“9%, cash payout stays as-is. Take it or leave it, Mr. Bolton.”

Bolton let out a loud exhale, “Surely there is something else you can do to sweeten the deal,” he leaned even closer, and the girl sat back in her chair, trying to create space between them.

“There is nothing more I can do; if you wish, I’ll take your offer to Stan, but I know what he will say.”

Bolton laughed but it was humorless, “ _Stannis_ can’t give me what I want...”

“Mr. Bolton—”

“Your naivety is charming, and I must say, rather affecting.”

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Bolton, but I—”

He put a hand on her bare knee and Tywin had to hold back from pouncing on the man.

After a moment of shock the woman put her hand on Roose’s wrist and tried to remove his hand but Roose squeezed into her flesh as he continued speaking, “Stannis gets what he wants, I get what I want, and you do your job, and collect a very nice bonus, I’m sure.”

“Remove your hand,” she stated assertively, but her voice was laced with fear.

“This is a game, darling, if you want to win, you’ve got to play. If you’re not willing to do what it takes then you don’t belong on the court,” Roose’s voice was filled with spite and he leaned even closer toward her.

In a flash of movement, the woman threw her drink in his face and he released her knee to clamp his hands to his eyes, no doubt the tonic and alcohol was stinging.

“You bitch!” he spat once he opened his eyes again. His arm extended toward the girl, who was now standing behind her chair, but Tywin was up in an instant and moved to stand between them, his back to the girl. Tom was also coming from around the bar.

Roose immediately recognized Tywin and his eyes widened in surprise momentarily before narrowing once again in anger and turning to Sansa. He was about to speak but she beat him to it, “It’s now _7%_ , Mr. Bolton. There’s a 2-point penalty for perverts.”

Roose threw down the napkins he was using to wipe his face, “Tell Stannis the deal is off… actually, no, _I’ll_ call Stannis and let him know _why_ the deal is off.”

“Oh, you do that!”

Without another word, Roose stormed out angrily and Tywin turned to face the woman. He stilled when he saw how stunningly beautiful she was. Sky blue eyes, unblemished skin, sharp jaw and cheekbones. She was looking back at Tywin, studying the man who’d come to her defense. He felt suddenly self-conscious. He looked good for his age, he knew, but the woman before him had otherworldly beauty.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked.

She said _yes_ but shook her head. Tywin looked down and noticed her hand was trembling.

“I knew he was a creep,” she added, “I just didn’t know _how_ creepy.”

“I think you did know; you compared him to Hannibal Lecter, as I recall. You have good instincts, don’t be afraid to listen to them.”

She furrowed her brow then blushed as she realized Tywin heard her entire phone conversation. “Thanks for the advice,” she answered, a bit sharply.

Tywin realized she took his words as a criticism and he cursed at himself inwardly. Looking down at the table he sighed, “It looks like you _spilled_ your drink, allow me to buy you another.”

“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. I appreciate you stepping in, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I think I just want to get to my room and bolt the door,” she tried to make it sound like a joke, but it was clear she was frightened.

“Roose Bolton has no honor, and I wouldn’t put it past him to give you more trouble. Allow me to walk you to your room.”

She was looking into his eyes as if trying to ascertain whether _he_ had dishonorable motives of his own when her phone rang, breaking their gaze. Tywin listened to her side of the conversation over the next few minutes.

“Hey, Stan, I already know why you’re calling.”

…

“He said what? No, _no_ … that is _not_ how it happened.”

…

“I thought we were in agreement on what the tech is worth to us in our portfolio.”

…

“Well if you agree then what’s the problem?”

…

“Yes I threw my drink on him! He groped me and wouldn’t remove his hand even—"

…

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

…

“Alright well how about you tell me how I should have handled him, then. I don’t understand why you’re giving me a hard time. You assigned Bolton to me because you know he’s difficult, you knew no one else would have the balls to stand up to him, and now you’re chastising me because I stood up to him? This is unbelievable!”

Tywin grabbed the phone from her hand, “Stannis Baratheon, this is Tywin Lannister…”

The girl’s eyes widened.

“…I witnessed the entire altercation. Your employee handled herself professionally and without reproach. Unless you expect her to whore herself out to make a deal, then she did nothing you should be displeased with.”

At hearing his words the girl grabbed the phone back, pressing her other hand to her forehead in embarrassment, “Stan it’s me.”

…

“No I’m not with Mr. Lannister he just happened to be at the bar—”

…

“Well, yes I met Roose at the bar at my hotel. He stormed out of our meeting at the office then called me not even an hour later to—”

…

“What do you mean that gave off the wrong impression? A man and woman can’t conduct business at a bar on a Tuesday afternoon? It’s not like I invited him here to begin with, it was—"

…

“Stan, listen – even at our meeting _at the office_ he was being inappropriate, making lewd remarks about the size of his… manhood.” The girl’s cheeks were crimson; she was humiliated and fuming mad and Tywin didn’t blame her. It sounded, based on the side of the conversation he was privy to, like Stannis was being completely unreasonable. Tywin was cutthroat in the business world, but he couldn’t imagine himself ever giving an employee a hard time over _not_ fucking someone to close a deal.

Sansa walked over to the far wall and lowered her voice, but Tywin could still hear her words even after he returned to his booth, “I can’t believe you’re giving me shit about this Stannis, truly, but perhaps I should take it as a sign. I’ve been with you for six years and, in that time, you’ve done nothing but heap all the shit assignments on me. I’m never home, I might as well stop paying fucking rent, you send me all over God’s creation to the deal with the jerks no one else wants to deal with. Seriously, why do we have an entire M&A _team_ when I’m the one who carries all the weight? This isn’t you, Stannis. You used to stand for something… you settled for nothing but the best. And you had my back and now… I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

…

She sighed, and looked up at the ceiling, “Yeah, it means I’m done. Goodbye, Stannis.” She hung up the phone and stared at it for several seconds.

To Tywin’s surprise, she slid into the booth across from him and offered a weak smile, “I think I’m ready for that drink now, but I’m buying; you stood up for me twice today.”

Tywin nodded, “Deal, but I’ll get the next round… not every day a man my age gets to rescue a damsel in distress.”

She snorted, as she waved Tom over, “Deal.”

When Tom came back with her gin and tonic and his scotch Sansa apologized for making a mess. Tom laughed it off, “Seems to me he had it coming. Besides, there aren’t many ways entertain myself on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Well, I’m glad something good came out of it.”

Tom smiled and went back behind the bar.

Tywin sipped his scotch, studying the girl’s expression, “So, you’re done at Stag.”

“Yeeuuppp…” she nodded, “I’m know I’m too young to think about retiring, but I honestly thought I could be there until I retired. So much for that,” she lifted her eyebrows.

“What changed? Pardon my eavesdropping but it sounds like this was but the last straw…”

“Uh-uh, Mr. Lannister. I know you and Stannis are rivals, you’re not prying anything out of me.”

“First of all, we are rivals but not _competitors_ – we don’t operate in the same markets. Second of all, you weren’t terminated, you quit. Unless you sign an NDA in exchange for a severance package, you can say whatever you want.”

“I know I _can_ say what I want, but I won’t do that to Stannis.”

Tywin shrugged one shoulder, “I don’t need specifics, just the broad strokes.”

She chewed her lip for a moment, “Fine, I suppose it’s no secret. Since Stannis hired Melisandre as COO, she’s become his right-hand woman, and whatever she’s whispering in his ear is changing his values. He used to be almost too rigid in sticking to his principles, but now… I don’t know, but I’m one of the last – shall we say, _attractive young women_ he has working for him. She’s jealous – among other things.”

“Are they having an affair?”

“Who knows?” she shrugged, “Stannis’ wife is about the only woman nuttier than Melisandre, so I’m not sure if I’d blame him for wanting to stray, but Melisandre is all but running the company. Stannis is her puppet; I swear it’s like she has brainwashed him,” Sansa looked up and blushed again, “I think I’ve said too much. I’d like to blame it on the gin, but I didn’t drink much of the last one.”

“No, but you did put it to good use.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Glad you think so.”

Tywin snorted, “And I must compliment you on your speed and aim; he didn’t even have time to flinch.”

She threw her head back and chuckled, “I’m a woman of many talents! I’ll make sure to list that one on my resume, which I’ll be dusting off later tonight.”

“I suspect you won’t have any problems finding a job. Good negotiators are hard to come by, which is why I still do most of mine myself.”

She shrugged, “I know. I’m not concerned, I just don’t like starting over. Though, honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting out of tech… no matter how well you do your homework, there’s always a speculative aspect to it, and the market changes so rapidly. What’s hot today is obsolete tomorrow.”

“On the consumer side, sure. But you were in commercial technology at Stag…”

“Yes, but it’s not dissimilar. You can have the greatest technology, but if the market’s not ready for it you lose your first mover advantage. Conversely if you’re even a few months late to a hot market you have to practically give it away at no margin to buy market share. Beyond that… truthfully, I’m not passionate about technology. I’m a quick study, so I can figure it out easily enough, but I’m a bit of a luddite myself. I listen to vinyl. I use cabs instead of Uber. I pay cash everywhere I go. The only tech I use is for business – my phone, Bluetooth, and laptop.”

She blushed again, “Sorry, Mr. Lannister, I’m rambling.”

He shrugged casually. He rather enjoyed listening to her talk but felt like he wasn’t contributing much to the conversation, “I too appreciate things that stand the test of time. In fact, perhaps you’ve heard of my restoration project…”

She shook her head.

“Well, we’ve lost so many of the great castles of Westeros to time, and those that are still standing are being bought, bulldozed, and turned into garish hotels, casinos, or shopping centers.”

Sansa shook her head, “I know; it’s tasteless.”

Tywin nodded, “Well you know my firm specializes in real estate development… I’m buying these estates, getting them registered as historic sites, then finding ways to monetize them without destroying them. One was converted into a private college, another is a museum, another a bed and breakfast… some I just leave as-is – they’re on hundreds or thousands of acres of fertile land; I just continue to see the land harvested, invest in new farming equipment if need be… help them return to profitability.”

“Wow. Rather philanthropic for the Lannister Lion…” she arched a brow.

“As much as I’d like for a charming young woman to think me a good man, believe me when I say that I make sure to benefit from the transactions.”

She chuckled, “Don’t worry, your reputation is safe with me. If nothing else, you keep your competitors from buying the sites and turning them into skyrises that would compete with your other properties.”

Tywin raised his scotch in salute, “Smart woman.”

“So what brings you to King’s Landing? Is there a property here you’re interested in?”

“Yes. I’m here in the city meeting with a client but my ultimate destination is Castle Stokeworth. They’re interested in selling their estate. With it being so close to King’s Landing the real estate price is astronomical; several residential real estate developers are interested – there will likely be a bidding war, but I need to at least check it out, see if I have any chance.”

“You won’t,” she shook her head, “not if you make it a battle of the checkbooks.”

“I’m sorry?” he snorted.

“For prime real estate less than an hour outside the city – you can’t possibly win on price.”

“Then humor me; how would you get the deal?”

Her eyes narrowed in thought, “The Stokeworths have owned that property for generations; they’re one of the oldest families in the country. Their keep is relatively small, but they are proud people. I assume they’re selling because they’ve fallen on hard times?”

Tywin nodded, surprised the girl knew or could infer so much.

“So they need money, but they won’t want to see their family home destroyed to make way for condos or McMansions… give them enough to live comfortably, or perhaps work something out where they can remain tenants of the property… do you know your plans for it?”

“Upscale resort, with the main keep being converted to the hotel and other buildings being converted to spa, restaurants, golf club, indoor pool… it will be a cleaner, quieter, and more private lodging option for those coming to the city for business or pleasure.”

“They’ll like that… you’ll be dealing with Tanda and Lollys, right?”

Tywin nodded again, “You know them?”

“We’ve crossed paths. They’re good women, a bit simple, not much business savvy – probably why they’re in the position they’re in. But they’re very warm and gracious. You can’t go into this is a business deal.”

“It _is_ a business deal. I’d be buying their property.”

“They won’t sell to you as Tywin Lannister, _real estate magnate_ , especially if you’re coming in lower than the other bidders.”

“I can’t exactly pretend to be someone else.”

“You need them to see your genuine intention to preserve the property. Be warm – show them a side of you that they’re not expecting.”

Tywin laughed, “There is only one side of me.”

A slight smile curved the corner of her mouth, “Well that’s disappointing.”

Their gaze was broken when Tom came by to offer to refill their drinks. Tywin noticed a few other patrons had wandered in by now. He looked to his wristwatch and found it was nearing 2 pm. Sansa interpreted the action as a hint that he was ready to leave, “Oh I’m sorry… only unemployed for an hour and already forgetting that other people still have obligations,” she joked.

“It isn’t that; I was just wondering if I have enough time to show you my plans for Stokeworth.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I shouldn’t waste any more of your time,” Sansa began reaching into her wallet and pulling out a few bills, but Tywin stilled her hand.

“Are you free tomorrow morning?”

She snorted, “I am _now_.”

“Good. Come with me to Stokeworth. Make the pitch, help me win over Lollys and Tanda. I’ll make it worth your time. And if we walk out with an agreement, I’ll _really_ make it worth your time.”

“Uh, Mr. Lannister, I have zero experience in real estate transactions or development…”

“No, but I do. You bring the heart, the passion, the friendly face. You said you’re a quick study, right? Come up to my suite, look at the plans and all the specifics of my proposal. If you don’t feel like it’s something you can pitch, then just say so. But if you think you can help, come with me tomorrow morning. If all goes well, perhaps I’ll offer you a job.”

She eyed him warily. Tywin thought his proposal was quite generous, but she seemed to disagree, “Mr. Lannister, you are unmatched in your domain. They literally write business courses around your practices and strategies. You must know that to ask me – someone who has never been involved in real estate – to assist you… well, I’ll be blunt, it seems you’re looking for an excuse to get me alone in your suite.”

 _Well, I wasn’t expecting her to say_ that.

Tywin shook his head, “Sansa… with all due respect, if I wanted to spend the night with a beautiful woman I could do so easily, without having to jump through the hoops of a pretend business proposal. Moreover, you should know I always put business before pleasure. And you’re right, my business acumen has been proven time and again, but I’m in new territory here. I’m a lion in negotiations, but perhaps this particular deal, and some of the others I will pursue, requires a… _softer touch.”_

“Mr. Lannister, you think because I’m a woman that I have a delicate touch? You may be a lion but I’m a wolf. Why do you think I’m the one sent to deal with the likes of Roose Bolton? What I’m talking about with the Stokeworths is playing a part. Surely you’re not inexperienced in the art of _intrigue_?”

“I’ve spent nearly four decades building a reputation that has served me well in business but won’t serve me well in _this_ type of transaction, as you recently pointed out. I suspect Tywin Lannister showing up and acting like a Septon might ring false. You on the other hand, you’re an unknown quantity.”

She cocked her head to one side, “You don’t know who I am?”

He shook his head, knowing confusion was written on his face.

She narrowed her eyes, “So you helped with Bolton because…?”

“Because he was overstepping his bounds; he was treating you disrespectfully and abusively… am I supposed to know who you are?”

She smirked, “Tell you what, lion, if you find out my name and you still want to work with me, then ask the concierge for my room number and give me a call.”

She dropped several bills on the table and was gone, leaving Tywin to scratch his head and ponder everything he knew about the girl…

Her first name was Sansa. She appeared to be in her late twenties. She wasn’t from King’s Landing. She worked for Stannis Baratheon which meant she was well educated, probably well connected.

Tywin sat back, sipping his scotch. The name Sansa did sound familiar, but not familiar enough for him to think she was someone very important. Besides, she worked _for_ Stannis; anyone who is anyone works for themselves. She also looked slightly familiar, but from a time long past… perhaps someone he met decades ago, but decades ago she would have been in grammar school, so that couldn’t be possible...

Realizing he wasn’t using all the tools at his disposal he Googled the name Sansa, but there were so many results of Facebook profiles that he narrowed the search by adding “Stag”. Sure enough he found an article about a Stag acquisition of a technology platform that used artificial intelligence to predict weather patterns with greater accuracy than current models. The plan was to incorporate it into Stag’s flight planning software which was sold to military and commercial aircraft companies. There was a quote about the platform’s potential by a _Sansa Stark_ of Stag Enterprises.

**_Stark?!_ ** _As in Ned and Catelyn Stark?_

The Starks owned much of the land in the North. They were one of the oldest and most respected families in Westeros, but they generally avoided politics and corporate interests. They were wealthy thanks to the vast natural resources produced from the lands they owned. Tywin had met Ned a few times over the years – he used to be rather close to Tywin’s son-in-law, Robert Baratheon (Stannis’ older brother) but rumor has it they had a falling out. Perhaps Ned simply tired of Robert’s ceaseless drinking and philandering. Ned was, by all accounts, an upstanding citizen, committed husband and father.

Tywin recalled meeting his wife, Catelyn, at a charity event many years ago. She was a striking woman with bright blue eyes and auburn hair, much like Sansa. Though Tywin vaguely remembered her eyes having a coldness that Sansa’s lacked.

Tywin laughed to himself, finally understanding Sansa’s words. It was well known that the Starks despised the influential families of the south and west – including the Lannisters. While Tywin paid no mind to the Starks’ affairs, he was certain good old Ned would see his eldest daughter working as a fry cook at McDonald’s before working in any capacity for Tywin Lannister.

But too bad Sansa didn’t realize that Tywin loved a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa had returned to her room, showered, and changed into a comfy romper. Though talking with Mr. Lannister was a good distraction from what happened with Roose, she felt dirty and violated just from the man’s hand being on her leg, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to try to caress her body with his eyes.

She should have refused to deal with Roose Bolton alone. She should have insisted that Jon come with her. Jon was her cousin and best friend. He worked at Stag in their military weapons division doing designs in their engineering department. As such he could work anywhere he had his PC, and would often accompany Sansa when she had to fly to various cities to negotiate buyouts. But Sansa had been traveling so much the past couple years that Jon only accompanied her about once out of every four trips. Too bad she hadn’t picked this one; Jon was a very protective man and though short statured he was strong and capable as a fighter. He would have knocked Roose’s lights out for putting his hand on Sansa’s knee, just as he’d once done to Roose’s son Ramsay at a family barbecue up north at Winterfell – the Stark family estate. Ramsay had commented about Sansa’s appearance, first playing his words off as “innocent” compliments, but after a few drinks he was pretty much telling his group of friends the various ways he’d like to fuck Sansa Stark. Sansa’s older brother Robb, his friend Theon, and Jon made short work of Ramsay and his friends even though they were outnumbered.

Roose smoothed things over with Sansa’s father Ned, claiming that Ramsay was drunk and that he was having a rough time because his stepmother had died. All was forgiven but not forgotten. But talking and meeting with Roose over the past several weeks only proved to Sansa that Ramsay learned all his worst behaviors from his father. To this day Sansa continued to get occasional friend requests from Ramsay, and whenever they ran into each other up north his eyes always lingered too long.

Ramsay wasn’t the first or the last young man to make unwanted advances on Sansa. She didn’t know if it was her looks or her father’s wealth, but it seemed there was always a man trying to take advantage of her. There was her mom’s friend Petyr, who acted like an uncle when anyone was around, but acted like a suitor when Sansa and he were alone together, even if only for a few seconds. There was also Harry. He was harmless enough but was a pathological womanizer. They dated for a few months during college before Sansa realized he was carrying on relationships with no less than four other women at the same time.

Since college she had occasional dates but was mostly unattached which worked out well since, two years after graduating, she landed the job at Stag and spent much of her time on the road. There was no way she could maintain a serious relationship when she was only home thirty percent of the time; she couldn’t even get a cat!

So now, as she sat on her hotel bed updating her resume, she was surprised to have felt a certain excitement while talking with Tywin Lannister. Despite his reputation for being cutthroat, she respected his intelligence and business savvy. When he stood up to Roose and then spoke up for Sansa to Stannis, he defied her expectations. Then he seemed genuinely interested in hearing about her work. At first, she assumed he knew who she was and was trying to somehow get to her father through her. But it became quite obvious he didn’t know she was a Stark, so that made his attention even more flattering, except of course if he was simply trying to get in her pants…

But she had to admit, even that prospect was flattering and even exhilarating. He didn’t strike her as a man who slept around. He was reportedly a workaholic and had been a widower for thirty years. He was also insanely wealthy – like, could buy Winterfell five times over wealthy – so he should have no trouble finding company for a night if that’s what he was looking for. And even though he had to be nearing sixty, the man was handsome and tall. He clearly took care of himself, and Sansa found that highly appealing – at his age, staying in such fine form must take a tremendous amount of discipline.

Of course, her musings about Tywin Lannister made her remember her early days working for Stannis. She was only twenty-four and he in his late forties, but he treated her like an equal. He proved to be an excellent role model in terms of work ethic and self-discipline. Sansa developed a bit of a crush on him, though never acted on it. She never psychoanalyzed it until now – did she have a thing for intelligent, powerful, older men? Not the Roose Bolton types who flaunted their success and “manliness”, but the types like Tywin and Stannis that exuded quiet confidence, effortless authority.

Sansa sighed, sipping a bottle of Evian water from the minibar that she would no doubt be charged seven bucks for, when someone knocked on her door. Assuming it was housekeeping she opened without pause and was surprised to find Tywin Lannister on the other side. His eyes briefly darted down to her bare legs but didn’t linger. Even so, Sansa felt mortified that she was standing in front of this man who was impeccably dressed in what was probably a five-figure suit while she was in a cotton romper without a bra.

“Ms. Stark,” he finally said to break the silence.

She recovered quickly enough and resisted the desire to cover her chest with her arms, “Mr. Lannister, I’d compliment you on solving the mystery, but you had more than enough information to go on.”

“Indeed, it was disappointingly easy. I prefer a challenge.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a total success. You were supposed to _call_ , not show up at my door.”

“Ah, how shameful of me. Will you excuse me, Ms. Stark?” Without giving her opportunity to reply he pulled her door shut as he stepped back into the hallway.

_What the hell?_

Her room telephone rang. “Who could this be?” she answered with a chuckle.

“My name is Tywin Lannister. We met a couple hours ago at the hotel bar. I’m the tall fellow who offered you a job.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He snorted on the other end, “So, a deal is a deal, isn’t it? If you aren’t comfortable meeting in my suite we can go back down to the bar or grab an early supper somewhere. My intentions are pure, Ms. Stark.”

She paused for a moment, “Your suite is fine; probably best to have peace and quiet so I can focus on my crash course in your Stokeworth proposal.”

“I tend to agree, but would you do me one courtesy?”

“What’s that?”

“Put some clothes on. My intentions may be pure, but I’m still a man.”

Sansa laughed even as she felt herself blush, “Good to know.”

Twenty minutes later Sansa, now wearing black leggings with a white, knee-length cardigan over a pink blouse, arrived at the suite. She purposely did not put makeup on or style her hair, as it would be too obvious that she did it just for Tywin’s sake.

Tywin opened the door wearing the black slacks and white dress shirt he’d had on in the bar, though his jacket was gone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Sansa’s eyes immediately found his feet – he wore only black socks, no shoes. His forearms were tan and muscular, Sansa was surprised to find.

He offered Sansa water or wine and she opted for the former as did Tywin. The suite was large – it had a kitchen, dining table, living room, and two doors that Sansa assumed led to two bedrooms.

“A bit big for one person,” she commented.

He shrugged, “Never know when you’ll need to bring a colleague, partner, or client back for some collaboration.”

“Which am I?” she asked with genuine interest.

“Colleague, I suppose. Or job candidate.”

“Mmm… that implies I’m trying to woo you; isn’t it the other way around?”

“Touché,” he smirked, “Shall we?” he pointed to the table which had several stacks of paper and his laptop.

“Of course,” she agreed brightly.

\----------------------------

Tywin presented his plans for Stokeworth over the course of a half hour. Sansa asked a few questions but was clearly listening and thinking about everything he said. She seemed thoughtful and he liked that. When he was done, he asked for her opinion, but she had something else in mind, “Tell me what you know about the Stokeworths and their estate.”

Tywin filled her in on those details, mainly the history of the estate.

“ _That’s_ what you need to focus on, Mr. Lannister. If your goal is to preserve the estate, you need to show them that you know what you’re preserving; that you appreciate its history. How you will incorporate that history into your renovations of the buildings is something else you should be ready to talk about. You’re not just preserving the physical buildings, you’re preserving their culture, their family legacy – that’s what people care about.”

Tywin nodded; the girl had a good point. In the prior two estates he had acquired, the previous owners wanted to have contingencies in the contract that certain elements of the property would not be removed or altered. If Tywin would address this early on with the Stokeworths it might make a good first impression and get him on the short list of bidders.

Sansa continued, “From the little I know of her, Tanda is a very – shall we say – _aesthetically_ motivated woman. I would offer to engage her as a design consultant as part of the deal. Lollys as well, if she’s interested. They would like that.”

Tywin grumbled, “And if I don’t like their designs?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, an expression Tywin wasn’t used to receiving from anyone save his adult children, “A consultant is just that – they _consult_ you, but it’s up to you to make the decision. Once you own the property it’s yours to do with as you see fit, within the boundaries of the contract, of course.”

Sansa had some of her own suggestions for the resort compound, and it was helpful to have a woman’s perspective. Tywin mainly worked with men; he was an intense person and women tended not to last long with him. It had earned him a reputation for misogyny that he thought was unfounded, but perhaps he was behind the times. In his day, a gentleman held doors for women. Nowadays you hold a door and some women think it means you don’t think she’s physically capable of opening it herself. He was content to be the breadwinner with his first wife and still viewed her as an equal because she ran the household and raised their children. Nowadays people would look down on such an arrangement, assuming he considered her to be a trophy wife.

Tywin looked at Sansa as she jotted down some notes on a pad of paper. He wondered how she compared to other women he had worked with over the years. Though she was obviously a capable and independent woman, she struck him as a bit old-fashioned… someone who would enjoy a man who took care of her. He didn’t want to ruin what could be a good working relationship by being forward, but he liked the idea of wining and dining her. An unbidden image of her relaxing on the sofa while he cooked her dinner came to mind, but he shook it away.

He only realized he’d been staring at her when she looked over to him. He shook away his musings and put his attention back into the suggestions she had offered, “I must say, Ms. Stark, I’m impressed. And if you’re so inclined, I’d still like you to join me tomorrow when I meet with Lollys and Tanda.”

She chewed her bottom lip but nodded, “I can’t make any promises, but if you think my presence will help, then I’m willing to try.”

“And if it goes well? Would you consider joining Casterly?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If it goes well, we’ll _talk_.”

He nodded his agreement and they made plans to meet in the lobby tomorrow morning at 8:30. He walked her to the door of the suite, resisting the temptation to ask her to join him for dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Driving back from Stokeworth, Sansa felt a rush like she hadn’t felt in years. The meeting was beyond successful. Heading into the meeting Tywin was simply hoping to not be eliminated from the running, but after six hours of discussion, Tanda actually was willing to sign a 30-day contract giving Casterly Inc. exclusive options to purchase her estate. Of course, there would be more meetings to finalize the terms, but Tanda was agreeing not to entertain any other offers for the next thirty days. She repeatedly told Tywin and Sansa how impressed she was by their proposal, and how grateful she was to see a company that wanted to preserve the castle rather than demolish it to build a housing development. Her daughter Lollys was equally enthused.

“This calls for a celebration, don’t you think?” Tywin smiled across the back of his private limo.

Sansa grinned, “What the hell?”

He popped a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass.

“To what I hope is the beginning of a very fruitful partnership,” he said. They clinked glasses and polished off the entire bottle by the time they arrived back at the Regency Hotel an hour later.

“You agreed to talk if things went well. _“Well”_ is an understatement. Let’s talk over dinner, shall we?”

Sansa eagerly agreed. Working with Tywin had been amazing. It was only one deal, but it was clear they complemented each other. She softened his sharp edges. She was friendly and relatable, while he exuded confidence and power. They were both poised and played off of each other well, somehow knowing who should take the ball at any given point in the dialogue. In his presence she had felt more powerful herself and liked to think in her presence Tywin seemed just a bit more approachable.

They agreed to meet at the lobby at 7 pm. Tywin would make a 7:30 reservation at a posh restaurant at the east side of town, so Sansa knew she would need to dress to impress. Luckily, she never traveled without a cocktail dress, as one never knew when a potential seller would want to meet for dinner or drinks. Wealthy people enjoyed being wined and dined on Stannis’ dime, Sansa had come to learn over the years.

Sansa donned her dark plum sheath dress. It was sleeveless but with a modest square neckline. The bottom hem fell at mid-calf but had a slit in front of the left thigh that came to just above her knee. It was fitted enough to show her figure but not so tight as to give off the wrong impression. She paired it with a rose gold watch and torque necklace but worried that she might look too fancy. She knew if Tywin Lannister was going there, the restaurant must be upscale, but the definition of “formal” had become so degraded that there would undoubtedly be women there in sundresses. Deciding to soften the look a bit, she wore her hair down in loose waves rather than an updo. It was 6:55 when she grabbed her nude clutch that matched her shoes and headed down to the lobby.

She noticed Tywin from across the lobby the second the elevator doors opened. He stood leaning against a column in a black on black suit that made him look dangerously handsome. He was sans-tie, which made Sansa feel better about her choice to wear her hair down.

She smiled warmly as she approached then blurted out what was on her mind, “You look great,” before blushing furiously.

He seemed a bit surprised by her remark, but smiled as he replied, “As do you.” It wasn’t the kind of compliment that made a girl weak in the knees but something about the light in his eyes and the rumble in his voice made the words sound practically scandalous.

He extended an arm, “Shall we?”

She nodded and took the offered arm and let him lead her to his limo once again. They made small talk on the twenty-minute drive across town, Tywin told her the restaurant was owned by Doran Martell of Dorne. Tywin didn’t get along particularly well with the boisterous Martells but he admitted Doran was the most tolerable of them all, and that the man knew restaurants.

Sansa quickly learned that dining with Tywin Lannister had some perks. As soon as they arrived, they were taken back to an intimate table with a great view of the Blackwater Bay. A bottle of chilled Arbor Gold was brought out immediately, and apparently Tywin had pre-ordered for them. Sansa wondered if he didn’t want her to see the prices on the menu but decided not to worry. Tywin could afford it, and she had helped him out today with the Stokeworths without even getting anything in writing as to what type of commission she’d receive should a deal be struck.

An appetizer of tuna tartare shaved paper-thin came out first. It practically melted in Sansa’s mouth. To her surprise, Tywin didn’t immediately begin wooing her with a job offer. He asked her to tell him about growing up in the north.

“Well, I’ll admit that even growing up wealthy in the north is nothing like growing up in the south. Both my parents instilled the value of hard work, respect for one’s self and others, and the importance of honesty. I’m proud of my family values though I had to learn the hard way that they wouldn’t always serve me well in the south.”

“How so?”

“The southern cities have a different code. Not that there aren’t honest men to be found here, but I found I needed to be much more guarded. In the north, if a person seems nice, it’s because they’re nice; if they seem rude, it’s because they’re rude. Here I find many people use rudeness almost as a self-preservation tactic, and conversely others use courtesy to hide ill intentions.”

Tywin laughed, “I can’t say I disagree, Ms. Stark.”

“I think you can go back to calling me Sansa, like you did before you knew my last name.”

Tywin lifted his hands in supplication, “Only if you call me Tywin.”

“That might take some getting used to. Seems disrespectful to call you by your first name when I literally studied you in business school.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel like a relic, you’re succeeding.”

She felt her cheeks heat, “Oh no, _Tywin_ – you’re not old or outdated, you’re… a _classic.”_

He laughed, “Sounds like another word for old.”

“I said classic, not vintage. Would you prefer I say _timeless?”_

“Much better, thank you… Anyway, I’m sure you learned your lesson quickly.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Nothing like getting thrown into the lion pit to discover one’s claws.”

“Pun intended?”

“Maybe,” she winked, and hoped it came across as playful not flirtatious.

“So you studied business? Where?”

“Vale University; actually I double-majored in business and law.”

“Quite aspirational.”

“More like quite _indecisive_. I also had a minor in psychology. I’m one of those people who’s interested in _everything_. Seriously… you know those boring dinner parties that you want to leave the second you arrive?”

“That’s every dinner party for me, but I recognize some are particularly tedious. What’s your point?”

She chuckled, “That I’m never bored at those parties. I love learning about people – what they do, what they like, how they think. Hence the psychology.”

“Mmm… well now I feel a bit guarded myself. Hate to think what you’d find inside my head.”

“Oh I wouldn’t judge. That’s what’s great about being curious, the fun is in the learning, not the knowing, and certainly not in making people feel self-conscious. I certainly wouldn’t want someone judging me for my little quirks.”

“Well now _I’m_ curious… tell me what a shrink would learn after an hour of psychoanalyzing Sansa Stark.”

“Oh that’s easy. I’m motivated by fear of failure, not desire for success. I’m a workaholic. I’m a people pleaser to an unhealthy degree. I act confident but I’m not; I’m more comfortable at home with a book then out with a large group. I unintentionally put out a _helpless vibe,_ and apparently that only attracts the wrong kind of men.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, “You threw a gin and tonic on one of the most intimidating men in Westeros. I’d hardly call you _helpless_.”

“Right, but why did I attract that attention to begin with? I go out of my way to act professional, sometimes even cold, toward these men and…” Sansa realized the conversation had gotten too personal too fast. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she sipped her wine, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Some men are used to getting whatever they want, whenever they want it. No one says ‘no’ to them, so when someone does, instead of moving on, they think it’s some kind of game.”

“They think I’m playing hard to get?”

“Precisely.”

Sansa shook her head, knowing he was right but not liking it. The waiter had brought out their second course – seared scallops in a lemon wine sauce. They were delectable.

“Mmm… Tywin you were right about this place, everything so far has been delicious.”

“I’m glad you approve. So – mind if I ask a personal question?”

“More personal than the last one?” she teased.

“Actually _less_ personal,” Tywin chuckled, “You come from money. Why not take a loan from old Ned and start your own firm – an investment and development firm, or M&A advisory”

“I thought about it, but I don’t want to have to prove to every new client that I’m not an airhead just to get them to agree to preliminary talks. With Stannis, I was the negotiator, I come in after they had already expressed an interest in being bought out. On my own, everyone would think I’m just Ned Stark’s daughter, playing at being her own boss until some young man scoops her up, marries her, and makes her his housewife.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. No shame in running a household, raising kids.”

“No, of course not. My mom did it with five of us. Maybe I’ll follow in her footsteps, maybe I won’t, but I’d like to keep my options open in the meantime. Besides, I kind of like the thrill of negotiating. I’m not sure all the other stuff would be enjoyable.”

“Hmpf, can’t argue with that. I’m never happier than when I’m gaining the upper hand in a heated conference room. It’s still a rush, and I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Is that why you’re still at it? I mean… you could easily retire, right? And before you comment, I’m not hinting that you’re old, I’m hinting that you’re rich.”

He chuckled, “And who would take over my legacy?”

“Well, you could sell your company.”

Tywin looked as if she’d told him to drown a puppy, “Sell it to _whom_ – some fool who will run it into the ground? No, I’ve worked too hard to let it go. I’ve backed off over the years, delegate what I can, but I’m not ready to give this up. I’m not even sixty yet, anyway; I can easily do this for another fifteen years. Maybe by then one of my children or grandchildren will surprise me by developing some business sense and work ethic.”

“Ah yes, the disappointing progeny of Tywin Lannister…”

“Wow, a little blunt, don’t you think?”

“You strike me as a man who appreciates the brutal honesty.”

“I do… just not used to ever receiving it.”

“Well, get used to it,” she smiled.

…

By the time the main course was brought out Tywin was surprised that they had not spoken about his job offer at all. It rather felt more like a first date than anything business-related. They were on their second bottle of wine and both speaking freely – well, Sansa was doing more of the talking, but Tywin found he liked that. She told him about her childhood at Winterfell – the antics of her siblings. It was clear that Sansa was the good girl in the group, always worried about pleasing her parents.

Tywin surprised himself by opening up about his children. Tyrion chose to live off his trust fund in Essos with his partner, a former exotic dancer named Shae.

Jaime wasn’t too much of a disappointment – he oversaw security for all the Casterly offices throughout Westeros. Tywin would prefer to see him running Operations or Finance – or, like Sansa, having a good mind for negotiations – but at least he worked, didn’t embarrass Tywin too much, and stayed out of trouble.

Jaime’s twin Cersei on the other hand was an increasing disgrace to the family. She married for money – not that she needed to – Ned’s former best friend Robert Baratheon. Both spouses were known to have frequent extramarital affairs and were heavy drinkers. When news came out about the many bastards Robert had fathered – not to mention an ugly rumor that some of Cersei’s children weren’t Robert’s – Tywin cut her off entirely. He still had occasional contact with her younger children Tommen and Myrcella, but her eldest son Joffrey seemed to inherit the worst of each of his parent’s traits. He had drug problems, had numerous _questionable_ encounters with young women, and was a generally unlikeable person.

Tywin wondered how things had gone so wrong with his family. By contrast the Starks seemed to have raised five wholesome kids if Sansa was any indication. Her elder brother Robb and younger brother Bran both worked for Stark Enterprises and seemed to truly earn their place. Robb was in Business Development and Bran was in Software Engineering. Her younger brother Rickon was currently in college. He didn’t sound like the sharpest tool in the shed, but he got a full ride on a hockey scholarship. Her sister Arya was the wild one in the bunch and instead of going to college had enlisted in the army and had already gotten to see a lot of Westeros and Essos. 

As if the Starks hadn’t done well enough by their children, they also practically raised Sansa’s cousin Jon who worked at Stag with her, though in the Engineering department. They were also strong influences on Robb’s best friend Theon, whose mother had died, and father was crazy, by the sound of it.

It was hard not to feel inadequate – a feeling Tywin was unaccustomed to harboring – by comparison. He had failed all three of his children, though he never admitted so to anyone other than his brother Kevan. He wasn’t father of the year before his wife’s death – he worked more than he was home – but when he was home, he did help with the kids. But after Joanna died, he threw himself into his work, leaving his sister Genna and a slew of nannies to effectively raise his children – each of whom was a tiny reminder of the woman he had lost. How his children would have been different today had he been a more involved and affectionate parent was anyone’s guess, but they certainly couldn’t be any worse.

Tywin was barely aware of the words pouring out of him – he was not an effusive man – until Sansa’s pale hand found his across the table. He looked up to find compassion but not pity in her eyes.

“Regret is a horrible thing to live with… I can’t imagine how my father would have coped with losing my mother, but I can’t imagine it would have been easy for him to go on without her.”

Tywin wasn’t comfortable with receiving sympathy, but Sansa made it easy. She wasn’t judging him as weak, didn’t offer empty placations, and as a result more came pouring out of him, “It was a dishonor to her. She wouldn’t have wanted me to turn cold toward my own children. I should have been stronger.”

Sansa nodded, “Yes, you should have, but it sounds like you were quite young Tywin, and she was the love of your life. Losing her stole something from you. No one would expect you to be as good at writing if you lost your right hand. Trauma of the heart and mind are less visible, but no less destructive.”

He could only stare at the wise young woman, who so eloquently and effortlessly described what it felt like to lose Joanna. After a few months everyone had expected him to move on, to be back to normal, but it was like his heart had died with her. The part of him capable of love was simply _gone_. He couldn’t get it back any more than an amputee could regrow a limb.

And yet, there was a thudding in his chest in this moment that he hadn’t felt since Joanna was alive. Was it possible his heart wasn’t gone at all, but had gone dormant, waiting for the tender words of a kind and beautiful young woman to awaken it?

Without thinking he leaned across the table and captured her lips in a kiss. It was not forceful; he did not grasp her head or neck. She could have backed away if she wanted, but she didn’t. She stilled at first, surprised no doubt, but then her mouth softened, and Tywin angled his head to deepen their contact, and she went along with it. Her lips parted and he took the invitation, exploring her with just the tip of his tongue as he felt warm fingers tentatively thread through his trimmed beard.

Tywin was too old fashioned to be comfortable taking things further in a restaurant, even if they were in a semi-private area. He pulled away gently after planting a final light kiss on her lips. She was flushed and beautiful when he sat back to look at her, and he couldn’t help but smirk proudly. She returned a shy smile before the approaching waiter stole her attention. He brought out two mint sorbets. Tywin and Sansa were quiet but exchanged frequent glances and smiles as they ate their desserts.

After dinner they decided to walk off their meal on the boardwalk. At this time of night on a Wednesday it was fairly deserted. Sansa told Tywin how in the North they never swam in the sea – even during summer the water was too cold. Every time she’d been to King’s Landing, Lannisport, or any other southern coastal city it had been for work and she was too busy to take in much of the sights or local attractions.

“So this is your first time walking on the boardwalk?”

“It’s my first time walking on the boardwalk _at night_. I like it better at night. Less crowded, and the moonlight reflecting on the water is quite lovely. Not to mention I don’t have to wear SPF 70 sunblock!”

Tywin chuckled. He wondered if she liked her fair complexion as much as he did. He’d gladly slather her in sunscreen to protect this fine silk she wore as skin, he thought as he stroked her arm gently with a knuckle. Her skin felt cool to the touch and he realized the evening breeze off the water did indeed put a nip in the air. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, and she thanked him with a warm smile.

_Still got it._

\-----------------------

There was electricity in the air between them during the ride back to the hotel. They didn’t speak much, but it was a comfortable silence, only interrupted when Sansa smiled at him shyly, “I believe we were supposed to talk about a job offer of some sort…”

He grinned, “I suppose we’ll have to have dinner again tomorrow night,” his last word was muffled by her lips pressed against his. He threaded his fingers into her hair as she braced her slender hands on his chest. Parting before things got too hot and heavy, he placed his hand over hers, keeping it pressed to his heart. They had pulled up to the hotel and Addam opened the door for them, smiling kindly at Sansa as he helped her out, then giving Tywin a knowing grin as he exited.

They walked side-by-side to the elevators. Not wanting to look presumptuous, Tywin pressed the button for his floor, then moved to press the one for Sansa’s when she stilled his hand with her own. He looked up to see her looking at him with trepidation and hope – as if she was simultaneously hoping he’d say ‘no’ and ‘yes’. He just nodded, and pulled her in for another kiss, this time holding nothing back.

She pulled away, flushed and breathless, “Tywin…” she whispered.

“It’s alright, my dear. Whatever you want, nothing more, nothing less.”

She nodded and moments later he led her by the hand into his suite. He poured her a glass of water but also pulled out two wine glasses and filled them with a sweet white.

“I enjoyed today, with the Stokeworths,” she started, “it felt like we…”

“Worked well together; complemented each other,” he finished her thought.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “I’ve always been a lone wolf in negotiations.”

“Me, too. Er, a lone lion,” he chuckled.

She laughed at his joke, sipping her wine, “It was a nice change of pace. Having a wingman. Though I suppose I was your wingwoman.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sansa. You made a great first impression. You put them at ease immediately. I dare say I could see us making a good team.”

Sansa bit her nip and nodded, no doubt wondering if his double meaning was intentional.

The silence stretched on as they sipped their wine, rarely breaking eye contact. Knowing it was up to him to make the first move, he placed his glass down gently on the granite-top peninsula, then slowly approached. She looked up at him expectantly, and when he placed his hands on her hips, she placed hers on his forearms. Desire was burning inside him, though on the outside he knew he looked calm and fully in control.

“Sansa…” he purred.

“Tywin,” she answered. It was all the permission he needed, and he sought her lips, kissing her well and properly as her arms snaked around his neck. His wrapped around her tiny waist. She was tall but slender, a perfect fit against Tywin’s tall, lithe frame. She fit within his embrace but wasn’t enveloped by him. Pulling her closer he knew his want would be evident against her lower belly, but also knew she would protest if bothered at all. Quite the opposite, she moaned into his mouth and he couldn’t resist the urge to stroke his large hands up and down her back, enjoying the curve of her spine. She broke away to catch her breath and he took the opportunity to bury his face in her neck, inhaling her lemongrass scent and planting open-mouth kisses all along the swanlike column. 

Where they were tentative minutes ago it seemed now they were both willing to succumb to their heated desires, hands exploring, caressing, and squeezing in the places that defined their respective forms – her narrow waist, wide hips, and round breasts; his taut forearms and biceps, broad shoulders, and stubbled cheeks. Their kisses became deeper, hurried. She tugged his shirt out of his pants and began clumsily unbuttoning it as he found the zipper on the back of her neckline and pulled it down, letting his fingertips brush the soft skin underneath.

Now fully unbuttoned she practically tore the expensive fabric off his shoulders, leaving him in nothing but a sleeveless undershirt. Before she could continue undressing him, he walked her backwards toward the dining table where just over twenty-four hours ago they’d collaborated on the Stokeworth proposal. He peeled off her dress slowly so he could enjoy every inch of her porcelain skin as it came into view. First her creamy white breasts, young and firm, spilling over the top of a nude bra. Then a flat tummy which tapered to rounded hips. As the plum fabric stretched over her hips it revealed black bikini style panties. Her mismatched underwear filled him with pride – she hadn’t gone into their dinner expecting to sleep with him – he knew enough about women to know this was a clear sign.

She braced her hands on the table behind her and stepped out of her dress as Tywin, now seated, brought it all the way down to the carpet, only then noticing she still had on her heels. He grinned devilishly and lifted her right foot up to rest on the chair between his spread legs. He stroked the silky skin from her ankle up to the back of her kneecap while his lips placed chaste kisses on her inner thigh, just above her knee, eliciting a whimper Tywin knew was involuntary.

“As lovely as you look in these,” Tywin spoke as he removed the shoe from her foot, “I’d rather you be comfortable.” He repeated the action with her left leg, placing it on the chair and caressing and kissing it before removing the nude pump. She now stood with her backside to the table, his legs on either side of hers, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He resumed his ministrations, now focusing his attention on her belly and hips, exploring the unblemished skin with his lips and tongue as she mewled and stroked her fingers through his hair.

When he’d kissed his way up to the fabric of her bra, he looked up her expectantly. With nothing but lust in her eyes she reached behind her and unclasped the bra, removing it slowly as Tywin waited in suspense for the beautiful mounds to be revealed. They did not disappoint; two perfect teardrops tipped by rose pink nipples, already hardened for him. He gave them the same treatment as the rest of her, kissing, licking, and nipping at the sensitive pink flesh as Sansa pulled his head closer.

He stood so he could give her mouth some more attention, supporting her with one arm wrapped around her waist and one threaded into her hair. When her deft fingers released first his belt then the button and zipper of his pants, he realized just how aroused he’d become, as the lightest unintentional brush of her knuckles sent jolts of pleasure through his body. He wanted to thrust into her hand, into her heat, into _anything_ , but had other plans. Still he let her play, gripping and rubbing his shaft through his boxer briefs as he lifted his undershirt over his head.

Excited to have new territory to explore she immediately stroked her fingers into his fine chest hair, scratching her manicured nails – _no, claws_ – against his skin. As close as they were, he could feel the heat of her core through the thin cotton of his boxers, and it took incredible self-restraint not to push aside her panties and plunge into her. But luckily, Tywin Lannister had restraint in spades. He instead pushed her to sit then lay on the table even as she looked up at him with desire and confusion. Had no man ever worshipped her this way before? He found it both sad and thrilling that he might be the first.

He tugged her panties off and noticed her blush at being so exposed. “You’re beautiful, Sansa. Might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She giggled nervously, “And is that saying something?”

He snorted, “There have been fewer than you might think, but enough to know perfection when I see it.” He was surprised to find the words were effortless and genuine. She truly was beautiful. Soft but not flabby, toned but not hard. Fair skin a blank canvas other than the occasional birthmark or freckle, which seemed to heighten rather than detract from her beauty. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to see all of them, kiss all of them, but he’d have to save that for another time. He allowed himself just one – a dry kiss to a small birthmark near her right hipbone. She trembled at the intimate touch while he practically moaned as he caught a faint whiff of her arousal, hidden only by a neatly trimmed bit of auburn hair at her juncture. Tywin smiled at that discovery, glad she wasn’t waxed or shaved completely bare – why women thought it was sexy to go with a pre-pubescent look was a mystery to Tywin.

But his brief musing was overtaken by the need to taste her, and he did just that, parting her lips to drag his tongue up the entire length of her slit, making her hiss with shock and delight.

“Tywin,” she mewled, hands once again seeking his hair.

If young men were more passionate and adventurous, older men were more experienced and patient. He idly licked in and around her entrance, rewarded by the slight bucking of her hips, or a satisfied moan. He played with her, teased her, built up her want until she was pleading for more, which is when he set upon his task in earnest. With hands placed on the back of her thighs he spread and pushed back her legs, opening her up to him completely like a fine feast spread out for him and him alone. He licked and suckled her pearl, combining his tongue, lips, and the movement of his head to give her the friction she was crying out for. A younger man might cum just from this – the combined sights, sounds, and tastes of someone as gorgeous as Sansa Stark – but Tywin Lannister could do this all night. However, it seemed that wouldn’t be necessary as she began panting and pleading with him not to stop. Her right hand pulled desperately on his head while the left sought his hand, squeezing it with surprising force. He did not stop, did not slow; he sucked her furiously until she came hard, crying his name into the suite.

He allowed her to come down slowly, not removing the warmth of his lips from her clit until she pushed him away, breathless, “Tywin, that was…”

_Amazing?_

_Incredible?_

He never got an answer as she sat up and straddled him where he sat on the chair, kissing him eagerly and grabbing his cock greedily.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, “I need you.”

“And you shall have me,” he replied, as he lifted her up and carried her to the king bed in the further room – the one with a view of the entire city. She never stopped kissing his neck as they walked, and he pressed her tight to him, loving the feeling of her soft breasts against his skin. He deposited her on the bed and paused only long enough to rid himself of his boxer briefs before installing himself between her legs. She leaned up on elbows and immediately sought his lips again. He stilled at her entrance, needing to know she still wanted this despite all the clear signs that she did – very, very badly.

When slim legs wrapped around him, he had his answer, and he plunged into her perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended, though she was so sopping wet that it did not matter. He slid into her tight sheath and it felt like coming home. It felt right in a way nothing had felt right in a long time. He wanted to know it wasn’t in his head, and when he looked into her eyes, he found the confirmation he needed. She was either an Oscar-worthy actress, or she was genuinely feeling some connection deeper than carnal lust. They panted between kisses, taking turns kissing the other’s neck and jaw. She clung to his back and shoulders, rocking her hips up to meet each thrust. They were in perfect harmony, just like they’d been during their meeting with the Stokeworths. He’d dared not let himself wonder what it all meant, just resigned himself to enjoy this moment…

…

Sansa couldn’t believe this was happening, nor could she summon the ability to find any fault in it. As she moved with Tywin Lannister – _Tywin fucking Lannister!! –_ she felt nothing but pure bliss and _rightness_. The man had just given her the greatest orgasm of her life with his skillful tongue and lips and now he was using his cock masterfully to bring her to the brink again.

 _All nine inches of it,_ she mused. Like the rest of him his cock was long and strong, a bit thicker than she’d expect from someone so slim, but not so thick as to hurt her relatively untested channel. She was no virgin, of course, it had just been a long time since she’d done it – and she’d _never_ done it like this. She wondered if Tywin’s _capability_ was simply the result of his age, though she suspected not. More troubling, she wondered if the feelings he was drawing out of her were simply the result of the intense pleasure he’d brought her body. Part of her hoped not – that there was some emotional connection between them; but part of her was afraid of what that would mean.

_Fuck, am I falling for Tywin Lannister? Who I’ve known for less than 48 hours! And if I am – is he falling for me, too? Or is this just a conquest for him?_

As if sensing her concern Tywin kissed her lips tenderly and whispered, “Sansa,” in her ear, tickling the tender skin there. Was she just reading into it, or did he intentionally communicate his affection for her just by saying her name?

Perhaps the wine had made her less stressed, because she decided to be present in the moment and not worry about what the future may or may not bring. Returning her attention to her skilled lover she kissed him on his throat, then on his neck and shoulder. Despite her brief detour into overthinking, her body have never lost focus on the pleasure building at her core. As Tywin began thrusting more rapidly, she could feel she was close – _but no, that’s impossible!_ Sansa had never peaked from intercourse, not without considerable effort and concentration that felt more like work than fun. She thought she could, but… but…

Once again seemingly reading her body or her mind Tywin unsheathed himself and gently turned her to lay on her belly, lifting her hips up to meet his groin as he knelt behind her. Plunging into her again he hit a knew depth and had a more direct angle at that place she needed touched.

“Oh fuck!” she cried out. She was beyond caring and was edging so close… so close…

Tywin increased both his speed and his force, fucking her mercilessly now with his cock as he’d done with his tongue minutes ago. She marveled that he could be sweet and gentle when she needed that, and demanding and forceful when she needed _that_. His short fast strokes had her panting like an animal but still she couldn’t summon the mental energy to care, “Tywin! Tywin… _please!_ Oh God, don’t stop… don’t stop…”

A growl from his throat could have been either satisfaction or impatience yet she still couldn’t care, “Oh fuck, please, fuck me harder, _please!”_ He complied, showing just how fit he was not just for his age but for a man of any age. His fingers gripped into the flesh of her hips painfully as he used the power of both his legs and arms to fuck her senseless. She was almost… almost… almost…

_THERE!_

“Oh fuuuuccckkkk!!!” she cried out – almost literally crying tears of – of _what_? Pleasure? Happiness? Euphoria?

As her muscles continued to spasm around his shaft, she felt like a dog in heat; something primal made her buck her hips against him, gyrating on his cock as she rode out her high. She wanted him to come, needed him to come, and the raw desire made her say things she never thought she’d say, “Fuck, Tywin, come for me, please, give it to me!”

…

Gods, if having his mouth on her cunt was incredible, being buried inside her as she bucked her hips against him was otherworldly. Feeling the remnant twitches of her inner walls around him was enough to bring him to the edge, and he knew he had only a minute left, at best.

“Fuck, Tywin, come for me, please, give it to me!”

 _Holy fuck!_ Her begging for his seed hurled him straight over the edge and he came hard and without warning, pushing deep into her with erratic jerks. He folded over her, needing to rest on his hands now that pleasure had sapped all the strength from his muscles and bones.

He rested his face on her shoulder, “Sansa, that was…” Then he remembered her words from earlier, and decided he wouldn’t finish the sentence, though he swore he heard her chuckle into the pillow she’d lowered herself down to. Cock still more than half-hard he stayed within her, keeping her close to him as he laid them down, front to back, on their sides. Eventually he slipped out, and she whimpered at the sudden absence. He chuckled into her hair, “Wake me up in an hour, little wolf, if you’re still missing it.”

…

But she didn’t wake him up in an hour, or at all. Tywin must have slept deeply from the wine, the sex, or both – for when he woke the sun was shining through the windows, the bedside clock showed it was 7:22 AM, and the bed was conspicuously empty. A quick inspection of the suite showed he was alone; Sansa and her clothing and purse were gone. He was surprised she didn’t leave a note but assumed she’d left early and didn’t want to risk waking him by turning on a lamp. It was no matter, he knew where to find her, and they had tentative dinner plans tonight.

Tywin set about his day – using two cups of coffee and a hot shower to wake himself, then setting to work. He emailed his attorney some questions about requests that Tanda Stokeworth had made, then began making some revisions to the proposal. It was lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten anything, so he went down to the bar, which was just opening for the day. He continued working on the proposal while also researching one of the other properties he had set his sights on. He thought like Sansa would, putting more effort into getting to know the current owners than the property itself. He wondered if she might like to join him, strictly professionally. He deliberated calling her as he munched on an Ahi tuna salad; he didn’t want to seem needy, but nor did he think it was uncalled for to touch base since they never did nail down plans for tonight. This time he would keep it professional. He’d present a formal employment contract for her review. Pausing his other tasks he began working on this now. Typically someone in HR would handle this, but he wanted to do it himself – he would of course send it for their review before finalizing it. He could guess what she made working for Stag and decided to be a bit more generous but not so much that she would think it was some type of ‘thanks for fucking me’ gesture.

He leaned back, thinking of the prior evening. The sex was spectacular, obviously, but the entire day had been rewarding. She proved to be intelligent, thoughtful; confident yet humble. He felt an odd anger thinking of how she’d told him at dinner that men she meets frequently try to take advantage of her. An irrational voice told him to find out who had ever mistreated her and see to their utter ruin – starting with Roose Bolton. He marveled at this uncharacteristic possessive streak. In his previous encounters with women, he didn’t care if he ever saw them again. More often than not, they pursued him, and he – politely but firmly – rejected them with the excuse that his schedule allowed no time for even casual dating. Most took it well; the few that got clingy were of no concern to Tywin, who always covered his bases. He made sure they were not so intoxicated as to have ground to accuse him of a nonconsensual encounter. He made sure never to promise or even elude to future gifts or favors – if they assumed there would be financial benefit to sleeping with him other than an expensive dinner and fine wine, well, that was their fault. And most importantly, to avoid finding himself in Robert Baratheon’s position, he always – _always_ – used protection…

_Uh oh._

Tywin felt his neck flush, he broke into a slight panic, but quickly convinced himself there was nothing to worry about. Sansa was not some cocktail waitress looking for a ticket out, she had a good job (well, up until two days ago) and her family was quite wealthy. Moreover, she was probably on the pill or shot or IUD or whatever the latest technique was in birth control. _Yes, yes, of course. She is far too independent to want to get strapped down by a kid._

Tywin peered at his watch – 1:44. He decided it would not be inappropriate to call her at this hour, under the (actual) guise of knowing when and where she wanted to eat so he could make a reservation if needed. He called her room but got no answer. She might have gone out to lunch or be in the shower, but something about the endless ringing made Tywin feel uneasy.

He worked for another 45 minutes and called again, and still there was no answer. Wondering if he’d forgotten her room number (though fairly certain he hadn’t) he headed for the concierge, a perky young blond whose skin was too tan and teeth were too white.

“May I help you, Mr. Lannister?”

“Yes. I’m trying to reach Ms. Sansa Stark. I believe she is in room 605 – can you confirm?”

The girl gave him a look that said, _I’m not supposed to give out such information, but for you I’ll make an exception._ He watched impatiently as she tapped the keyboard then frowned, “She was indeed in 605, however Ms. Stark checked out this morning.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you,” Tywin walked away in a daze, ignoring whatever empty nicety the girl was saying to his back. Suddenly he felt sympathy for all the women he’d ever slept with then discarded, because he knew exactly how it felt.


	4. Chapter 4

Two months into working for Stark Enterprises, Sansa was regretting her decision. Well, technically, she regretted the decision since the moment she made it, on the commercial flight from King’s Landing to Winterfell, but she knew it was the best option to have immediate, gainful employment in a job for which she wouldn’t have to travel – because she was tired of traveling, and because no traveling meant less risk of running into _him._

She could still remember waking up in Tywin Lannister’s arms like it was yesterday. It had been early morning, still pitch dark out, but the need to relieve herself roused her from her slumber. She laid in bed a moment, first recalling where she was (and with whom). When memories of their shared evening flooded back, she smiled to herself, but by the time she was done peeing her joy turned to panic.

_I slept with Tywin Lannister!_

_I slept with a man I’ve known less than two days._

_…A man I studied in business class!_

_…The father-in-law of my dad’s former best friend._

_…The man called the Great Lion because of his cutthroat business practices._

_…A man almost old enough to be my grandfather!_

_…The man who offered me a job and instead of being professional for **one** night, I fucked him!_

It wasn’t just that it was Tywin Lannister, it was that the night had felt so perfect, so magical, yet she knew it was all in her imagination. Yes, perhaps he respected her as a negotiator; perhaps he found her attractive; perhaps he had a good time with her… but who was she kidding? The man had been a widower for thirty years… he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. He probably didn’t even want to sleep with her more than once. This had all just been fun for him – fooling around – like other, normal adults do all the time. But she read more into it, and now she was mortified.

In that moment she was certain of only two things: 1) that she could NOT be in his suite when he woke up, and 2) that she did NOT want to see him at all today. She could not bear the inevitable look that would pass between them. She knew she would burst into tears, and he’d realize she wasn’t an assertive, independent woman like she pretended; she was just a naïve girl with no place at the men’s table.

With a new mission, Sansa found her clothes, dressed swiftly, and left the room as quietly as possible. She told herself she’d save both of them some awkwardness by eliminating the chance of running into each other at the hotel. After retrieving the rest of her things she checked out and took a cab to the airport, paying a hefty fee to move her flight up to leave as soon as possible, which meant essentially paying her first-class fare for a coach seat.

But now she tapped her manicured nails against her desk at Stark, trying to focus on the supplier contract she was reviewing ahead of an afternoon meeting, and was unable to concentrate on anything but the _other_ contract – the one still sitting at home in her nightstand drawer since nearly three months ago. It was delivered by courier at Winterfell two weeks after her one-night stand. Bran brought it over to her apartment. It contained a personal missive from Tywin assuring her that any concerns she felt as a result of their _personal encounter_ should have no bearing on their potential working relationship. It was clear he wanted her to work for him, and he made a very generous offer that had her tempted to pick up the phone and accept. She remembered thinking through excuses to use – _“Sorry I left without saying goodbye. There was a family emergency, then the fallout from leaving Stag…”_ but she knew it would scream ‘the dog ate my homework’. She considered just telling him the truth, _“I made a mistake sleeping with you, and just want to pretend it never happened – can we do that?”_

But she didn’t actually want to pretend it didn’t happen. It was the single greatest evening of her life, though she realized how pathetic that was. No doubt Tywin had dozens of such encounters over the years, not to mention hundreds of times with his wife before she died.

She had stuffed the contract in the drawer but took it out to look at it often, imagining Tywin’s voice speaking the words in the letter. Two weeks after receiving it, it was too late for any excuse other than honesty, which she wasn’t ready to give. So she took her dad’s offer to run the Procurement Department at Stark Enterprises. It wasn’t so bad, she just never wanted to work for family – she wanted to blaze her own path, so to speak.

Jon tapped on her door frame, startling her, “Hey – you eat lunch yet?”

Sansa was so glad to have Jon. The second Jon heard that Sansa quit Stag he put in notice and got a job working for his uncle Ned – Sansa’s father. Sansa thought back to when they were young and how bitchy she always was to Jon. She didn’t understand why her cousin should be tagging around all the time, infringing on their family activities. Not to mention her brother’s friend Theon. It was only later she realized she didn’t dislike either of them personally, she just hated having _more_ boys around. She had three brothers and a tomboy sister. She spent the first thirteen years of her life hoping her mother would have another baby – a girl this time, but one like Sansa, not Arya. Of course, she gave up that dream after her mother had Rickon. By then, Sansa was more mature, and realized that of all her siblings and pseudo-siblings, she actually had the most in common with Jon. She and he were a pair of goody two-shoes. Offering to help out around the house, babysitting Rickon when their other siblings and parents went out on a Saturday night. Jon and Sansa would read books and talk about them for hours on end. When her siblings went out to get in trouble, Jon and Sansa elected to stay home and watch movies or play Scrabble.

As they got older and had secrets to exchange, they only did so with each other. Arya and Theon would only ridicule them; Bran and Rickon were too young; and Robb would lecture Sansa about anything even mildly inappropriate. But Jon was always there for Sansa – just as she was for him – to gush about the kisses and to cry about the heartbreaks. When he followed her to Stag, their families thought it was odd, and Arya even joked that it was still legal to marry one’s cousin in Essos. Jon and Sansa shrugged it off; they knew there was nothing wrong with their closeness – they were best friends and cousins who had grown up together. If Jon was a woman, no one would question their bond.

Now her beloved cousin stood in the doorway, waiting for Sansa’s response, but all that came were inexplicable tears. Sansa turned away and covered her mouth. She was crying – no, _sobbing_ – on a Thursday afternoon because of a random fling she’d had three months ago with a man she obviously was never going to be with in a serious way, even if by some miracle it’s what he wanted.

Jon, of course, ran to Sansa and kneeled in front of her, wrapping his strong arms around her trembling shoulders, “What’s the matter San?!”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.”

“San, if you’re crying over it, it isn’t stupid.”

For the first time in her life Sansa wished it was Arya here instead, as Jon’s sweet and compassionate words only made more tears spill from Sansa’s eyes. Arya would tell her to put on her big girl panties and get over it before even asking her what was wrong.

“No, this really _is_ stupid…”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Jon asked with kindness in his eyes.

“I will; we’ll talk about it, but not here and not now, I need to compose myself first, I have a WebEx meeting this afternoon and can’t look like a rabid racoon,” she ran her fingers along her lower eyelids, wiping away smeared mascara to prove her point.

Jon chuckled, “Maybe you’re just PMS-ing; you were really weepy yesterday on the phone.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, knowing he was half joking, “I don’t get PMS, remember? I get the depo shot.”

_Uh oh._

Sansa stood up so fast she nearly knocked Jon over, “Oh no… oh nonononono…”

“What?”

“Oh God!”

“What?! San, you’re scaring me!”

Sansa opened up her texting app, scrolling through an endless sea of messages from friends, family, and coworkers, until she found the one she was looking for – the reminder from her OBGYN’s office that she was due for her depo shot… five months ago.

“Oh fuck!” Sansa yelled, as Jon closed her door.

“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!” It seemed to be all she could say.

Jon seemed to piece everything together, “San, you think you’re pregnant?”

She began giggling in a manner that most certainly worried her cousin, “Yep,” she answered with feigned casualness.

“Umm… and who might the father be?”

Now her laughter was downright maniacal, “I’ll give you ten million guesses.”

\-------------------

“Wow,” Jon said for the third time.

“Mmhmm,” Sansa responded for the third time.

“No – I mean it, _wow...”_

“Yeah, believe me, the weirdness of this is not lost on me.” Sansa sat back and sighed, placing her hands on her belly and wondering why in three months it didn’t feel any bigger. Sure, she’d put on about five pounds, but she attributed it to being home for mom’s good cooking and spending all day behind a desk instead of running through airports to catch flights.

She looked to her phone and couldn’t even summon the energy to care that Beth told her the meeting with the supplier went well. After realizing she might be pregnant, she asked Beth to cover for her. Her childhood friend-turned-coworker was happy to do it, which allowed Jon and Sansa to buy three different types of home pregnancy tests at the pharmacy. Well, technically, Jon bought them, because Sansa was afraid someone would recognize her, and word would get back to her parents. _A twenty-eight-year-old acting like a sixteen-year-old. God I’m pathetic._

When all three tests were positive, Sansa started a new wave of crying, and told Jon everything about her one night with the lion. Details poured out of her like a confession. And once it was all out, all Jon could say was ‘wow’. Over and over again.

Some time passed in silence before Jon gained enough presence of mind to contribute something more productive, “You’re going to tell him, right?”

Sansa stared daggers at her cousin, who shrank under her gaze, “Look, it’s not my business, but if I knocked some girl up, I’d want to know. If she was going to keep it, that is…”

She rolled her eyes, “What choice do I have? It’s been just over three months; I think it’s too late to do anything, and…”

“And?”

“Well, I don’t think I _would_ do anything, anyway…” Sansa had always considered herself to be firmly pro-choice, but until today she didn’t realize how unpleasant the idea of getting rid of something, some little life that was now a part of her, would be.

“Look, I’m not saying it has to be today, San, but he has a right to know…”

“No… no way… I’m not even showing yet. I need to make a doctor’s appointment, get the facts, and… well… anything could happen. I could have a miscarriage; why tell him when nothing is definite yet?”

Jon gave her a look that meant he knew she was grasping for excuses, but he was good enough not to point it out. Instead he just nodded and let her cry on his shoulder… again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - so I'm not sure you can get pregnant two months after being due for your depo shot, but I'm sure it's within the realm of possibility. So just go with it.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime stared out the window of his office at Casterly Inc. after having one of the strangest conversations of his life. A conversation that wouldn’t register to anyone else as strange, but to him it was quite disconcerting. He’d had lunch with his father, as they did about once a month. They never talked about anything other than work, but his father had been distracted and seemed uninterested in talking business. Jaime assumed he was stressed about some deal, and didn’t press, but nearly spit out his sparkling water when his father asked him about his love life, “How’s it going with that woman you’re seeing? Brienne, is it?”

“Uh, good.”

“Is it getting serious?”

“Umm, yeah. I mean, I guess. She’s very independent, so it’s hard to say, but yeah, I think we’re pretty serious.”

Tywin nodded wistfully and Jaime thought the conversation was over. He was wrong.

“You’re not getting any younger, Jaime…”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “I know, Dad... family… legacy… _got it_.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about that,” Tywin muttered in an uncharacteristically low voice.

Jaime stared at him, “Then what?”

“If you think she’s the one, you should tell her. Don’t let her slip away.”

At that point Jaime was downright worried. A dozen thoughts went through his head, ranging from his father was having a late mid-life crisis, to the waiter had slipped some pot into his father’s lunch, to his father had been diagnosed with cancer and had only months to live. “Dad, is everything okay?”

“Yes, why?” Tywin looked irate.

“Well, ‘don’t let her slip away’ aren’t words I ever expected to hear you say in regards one of my girlfriends. At least not about one who is a cop and offers no financial, political, or business benefit.”

Tywin waved a hand, “You have enough money for ten lifetimes, thanks to me. Money isn’t rare for Lannisters, but love is.”

Jaime was literally speechless. _Love?_ He almost laughed when he realized there was sincerity in his father’s eyes. “Okay, Dad,” was all he could say.

After returning to his office he began thinking of previous interactions he’d had with his father over the past few months and realized some of the man’s usual intensity was missing. He was by no means any kinder – in fact he seemed to be even more short-tempered than usual – but he seemed less intent on conquering the world. Like his lifelong passion was stolen. Perhaps it was just what happened to men as they neared sixty – surely, they lost some of their _drive_ at some point. But with his father the change seemed to happen overnight. He went to King’s Landing on a brief business trip and came back different, somehow – though Jaime only realized it now in hindsight.

Jaime made his way to his uncle’s office that afternoon, knocking on the doorframe.

“Hey, Jaime!” Kevan greeted warmly, “What can I do for you?”

“Hey Uncle Kev, uh… I actually… well, I wondered, since you work more closely with my dad then I do… if you’ve noticed anything different about him. Like in the past couple months…”

Kevan’s smile straightened, “Actually, yeah. You noticed it too?”

Jaime nodded eagerly and took a seat across from Kevan’s desk. Kevan leaned back, “Seems to be since he came back from his initial negotiations with the Stokeworths.”

“But I heard that went well… they even finalized the deal a couple weeks ago.”

Kevan shrugged, “I know, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did something happen in King’s Landing? Did he tell you anything?”

Kevan shook his head but then his eyes widened, “Well, actually, come to think of it, a week after he got back, he had me review an employment contract he was sending to a young lady he met down there. She was a negotiator; said he ran into her the day she quit Stag, and the next morning she accompanied your father to the Stokeworth pitch. He said she was very qualified, and he wanted to hire her before someone else could scoop her up.”

“Did she accept?”

Kevan shook his head, “No, but he didn’t seem all that surprised.”

Jaime was intrigued, “Do you know her name?”

Kevan smiled, “That’s the funny part. She’s Sansa Stark.”

“As in…?”

“Yep, the Starks of Winterfell. Ned’s eldest daughter. I figured part of Tywin wanting to hire her was to stick it to old uptight Ned,” Kevan chuckled.

“Hmm… you don’t think…?” Jaime couldn’t finish the sentence.

Kevan scrunched his nose, clearly understanding Jaime’s implication, “No, she’s not even thirty. I looked her up; you know, due diligence. She’s got an impressive pedigree, but I don’t see Ty having any interest in someone that young. You know him.”

“Yeah; maybe she just bruised his ego by declining his offer.”

Kevan snorted, “Now _that_ sounds like him.”

The men shared a laugh and talked a bit more about their respective lives before Jaime headed home for the day. He was happy to see Brienne was there as her schedule was unpredictable. As a homicide detective she sometimes worked 24-hour shifts while investigating a crime, then would be home only until she got another phone call.

He walked into his penthouse and smiled as the aroma of lemon chicken wafted into his nostrils. Brienne didn’t cook often – it was too much like being a housewife – but when she did it was a little slice of domesticity that Jaime loved. He greeted her with a kiss and then followed her orders to take a load off while she finished cooking. He set the table then waited for her to join, but his father’s behavior and his uncle’s words kept coming back to him.

Retrieving his smartphone from his pocket he looked up Sansa Stark on the Internet and eventually found a photo of her from a black-tie fundraiser hosted by Stannis Baratheon two years ago. Jaime’s jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the woman standing with Stannis and a few other others for a photo op. She was stunning in a long, charcoal dress that shimmered from the camera’s flash. She was beaming radiantly, blue eyes full of warmth and an elaborate braid of auburn hair wrapped over her shoulder. Jaime zoomed in the screen and could see the woman was practically flawless – clear, ivory skin, bright blue eyes, naturally full lips, and straight white teeth. She wore a simple necklace and earrings for an understated look, but her beauty needed no adornment.

“Ready to trade in for a newer model?”

Jaime practically jumped at Brienne’s words from where she stood looking over his shoulder. He chuckled, “As a matter of fact, no… just doing some _investigating_ of my own, I’ll have you know.”

“Color me intrigued, though I doubt that woman is capable of murder.”

“Brienne! Where is your sense of gender equality? You know women are _just_ as capable of murder as men are,” Jaime spoke with mock righteousness.

Brienne laughed, “Capable? Yes. Inclined to? No.”

“Touché. Anyway, I don’t think it is murder she’s guilty of. I rather think she might be a lion poacher.”

Brienne arched a brow, “Well now I’m doubly intrigued.”

Jaime recounted all of his father’s recent, out-of-character behavior, plus the odd conversation at lunch that day, along with Jaime’s conversation with Kevan. Brienne took it all in and looked thoughtful.

“So she’s obviously beautiful,” Brienne said, pointing at Jaime’s phone screen, “But she is also well-bred, kind, intelligent, and an accomplished negotiator?”

“Yep,” Jaime smiled smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. “Sounds like an airtight case, don’t you think?”

Brienne gave an exaggerated wince of uncertainty, “If the victim were any other man I’d say yes; but doesn’t one need a heart in order to become heartbroken?”

“Ouch… I never said my father didn’t have a heart, I only said it was made of ice, or stone, depending on which conversation you’re referring to.”

Brienne laughed, “Fair enough. Let’s just call it ‘withered from lack of use’, shall we?”

“Most apt!”

When a mischievous smile painted Brienne’s face, Jaime knew he had a partner in his case, “You know, I’m going to that forensics symposium in Hornwood next week…”

“You know, I have a lot of unused vacation time…”

\-----------------------

Sansa puked into her waste bin for the second time that morning. As if ignorance alone kept her from experiencing the most unpleasant symptom of pregnancy, the day after her doctor confirmed her _diagnosis_ Sansa woke and made a beeline to the toilet. For each day of the week that followed Sansa barfed her guts out every morning. She was also finding it unbearable to be around any strong-smelling cologne or perfume. She even sent a memo to the people on her floor asking them to avoid wearing any fragrances to work since she was suffering from “migraines”. This could also explain the puking in the event someone walked in on her, though she made a point to sometimes feign a headache in the afternoon so no one would wonder why she was only ever sick in the morning.

After gargling with mouthwash she was, as always, famished. “Make up your mind,” she muttered to the golf ball-sized human inside her. She walked to the kitchen and scarfed down a yogurt with granola. It was only mid-morning and, luckily, she didn’t have a particularly busy day, so she might be able to work for a couple hours then squeeze in a midday nap. Eating, puking, and napping. That’s what her life had become. Oh, and peeing. Oh, and swollen breasts.

Sansa turned to her wall calendar, which mocked her daily since she’d put a little star on a date exactly two weeks from now when she would break the news to her family that she was pregnant. She knew her parents would be disappointed but supportive. What she feared were the inevitable questions about the father.

_The father._

_Tywin Lannister, the father of my child._

Her desk phone chirping was a welcome distraction, and the secretary told her she had visitors. Typically she would ask for more details, since opportunistic vendors would show up unannounced from time to time, but today she didn’t care. Anything to not think about that little star and the little golf ball…

A few moments later a tall, handsome man, and a tall, plain woman walked in. Unfortunately, the man’s cologne was downright pungent, and Sansa fought the temptation to pinch her nose.

“May I help you?” she asked.

The woman – whose cheeks were red – flipped open a bifold leather wallet revealing a police badge, “I’m Brienne Tarth with Lannisport Homicide.”

Sansa’s eyes widened before the man started laughing, “Just kidding – I mean, she _is_ a detective, but that’s not why we’re here. She lost a bet on the way here and I put her up to it.”

The man extended his hand and his musky cologne overwhelmed Sansa’s senses. Barely making it to the trash bin she puked out undigested yogurt and granola.

“Wow, I’ve never had _that_ effect on a woman,” the man said, earning a tsk from the woman.

“Are you alright, Ms. Stark?” Brienne bent over, stroking her back.

_How humiliating!_

“I’m fine,” Sansa waved her away, “I always react that way to bad pranks.”

“Really?” the man asked with wide eyes.

“No, it’s your cologne, no offense. I get migraines.”

The man laughed before taking a big step back, “Oh, eh… sorry…”

Sansa wiped her mouth and gargled her mouthwash, not caring if these strangers suspected it was pregnancy and not migraines that made her sick.

“Apologies for that strange introduction. What can I do for you Brienne and…?”

“Jaime. Lannister.”

Sansa knew her face drained and only hoped it wasn’t noticeable in her present state. She recovered quickly, offering each her hand, “What can I do for you?”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, “Well, I was hoping you’d let me take you somewhere for coffee, or an early lunch, but perhaps that’s not the best idea...”

“Perhaps not, but if you don’t mind, some fresh air would be nice – the courtyard?”

Brienne and Jaime nodded, and Sansa led them slowly to the elevators, trying to come up with an action plan. She knew Jaime must be here on his father’s behalf, but was it on a professional or personal basis? She felt her hands sweating and her face flushing. When the elevator doors opened, Sansa practically squealed in delight, “Jon!”

“Hey, Sansa,” Jon smiled politely to her two blond companions, “I was going to see if you had breakfast yet, but I see you’re headed to a meeting.” He said the statement more like a question.

“Actually, I’m not sure what I’m headed to,” Sansa smiled at both Brienne and Jaime, so they’d know she didn’t mean it as an insult. “This is Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister… from Lannisport…. We were just heading out to the courtyard. Care to join us?”

Jon’s eyes widened, “Oh, uh… pleasure to meet you both. Sure, I’ll tag along if that’s alright with your… guests.”

“The more the merrier!” Jaime said, though his smile did not reach his eyes.

…

 _Well this is not how I imagined it._ Within a minute of meeting the young woman Jaime was convinced his father was in love with, she was barfing into a garbage can. Jaime had dated a woman once who suffered from migraines, so her behavior was more than forgivable. But when he gave her his name, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Jaime wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but definitely took it as confirmation that _something_ had transpired between her and her father. _What_ precisely happened he didn’t know. A kiss, perhaps? Or his father may have asked her on a date, and she rejected him. Jaime tried to think through the possibilities but before he got very far a handsome young man stepped off the elevator and Sansa looked like she wanted to leap into his arms.

_Ah… the reason she rebuked my father’s affection…_

He realized Sansa was asking him and Brienne if they minded Jon’s company for their little ‘talk’. Of course Jaime minded, but saying so would likely raise alarms in the girl’s mind, “The more the merrier!” he beamed, though couldn’t find it in himself to be truly kind at the young man, as irrational as that was.

Now the unlikely group stood in a bright courtyard surrounded with lush foliage and tasteful artwork.

The girl cleared her throat, “Mr. Lannister, I hope—”

“Please, call me Jaime,” he smiled.

“Alright, Jaime… I hope you haven’t come this way to reiterate your… _father’s_ … job offer. I admit I was remiss in sending a formal declination, I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy, though I’d think my absence of any communication would be an obvious refusal. His offer was quite generous and rather tempting, but I’ve decided to take a break from all that.”

“From all what?” Jaime asked curiously.

“From the constant travel; the stressful meetings and negotiations.”

“Ah, I understand travel can be taxing but my father seemed to think you rather enjoyed a good… _negotiation.”_

Her face flushed scarlet. Brienne and Jon were silent but attentive.

“Well, I do, but like I said, I need some time away from all that. I wanted to be home, with my family.”

“Ah, you’re married?” Jaime asked, knowing she wasn’t.

“No,” she spoke with obvious frustration, “I was referring to my parents and my siblings. My friends.”

Jaime looked to the young man, curious why she didn’t list a ‘boyfriend’ among those she wanted to spend time with. If the man was insulted by this omission though, he didn’t show it.

“Look, I appreciate you coming here to express Casterly’s continued interest. I must decline at this time, but if I’m ever back on the job market I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, please do let my father know if you’re back on the market,” Jaime smiled. Sansa looked like she’d been smacked.

“…But as it happens, Ms. Stark, there was another reason for my visit…” Jaime didn’t want to do this; he knew his being here at all would make his father furious should he ever find out. What he was about to say might guarantee Jaime needing Brienne’s protection from the man…

“Oh?” she asked, her voice thin.

“Well, this may sound rather odd, but my father has been… well, let’s say _not himself_ since returning from his trip to King’s Landing. I wondered, since I know you joined him in meeting the Stokeworths, if perhaps something happened.”

“Not himself?” she asked, worry clouding her pretty blue eyes.

“Oh nothing serious, just a bit… _distracted_. You see, my father is a very disciplined and rigid man, so it’s unlike him to seem unfocused on his passion.”

“His passion?”

“His work, of course. Negotiations, business deals. Buying low selling high… you know. It’s what makes him tick.”

“And he’s not… _ticking?”_

There was an innocence to her voice that Jaime found endearing, “He’s ticking, just maybe running a few minutes slow.”

She shook whatever she was thinking out of her head, “Well, I’m sorry, Jaime. He was fine when I met with him, brief as it was. Perhaps he’s just in a rut. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more so than him, as she eyed the ground with a regretful expression on her face.

“Oh I’m sure he will be. My father’s a tough old son of a bitch… Just not invincible, apparently.”

The girl nodded, “I need to get back…”

“Ah, of course, it was a pleasure to meet you, Sansa. I dare say I can see why you made such an impression on my father. If you ever change your mind about joining us at Casterly, we’d love to have you,” Jaime nodded warmly at her, then curtly at Jon.

“I’ll walk you out,” Jon offered, making it clear it wasn’t a request. He was dark and brooding, and as soon as they were out of Sansa’s ear shot, he spoke without turning to Jaime, “I think it’s best if you and your father left Sansa alone. She’s made her decision quite clear.”

Brienne cast a warning glance at Jaime to not provoke the man, but the man was so very provoke-able, “I don’t intend on bothering Sansa again, and my father has done nothing but send her a very generous job offer.”

Jon nodded and seemed to be done with the conversation. When they got to the parking lot, Jaime stopped the young man before he could turn back, “Out of curiosity, why do you suppose Sansa would rather work in _procurement_ , _”_ Jaime said the word as if it tasted bitter on his tongue, “when she could be out there doing what she loves.”

“And you know what she loves?” the boy arched a dark brow.

“Well, to hear my father tell it she was really in her element. Quite impressive…” Truthfully Jaime only knew what Kevan told him, but he trusted Kevan’s appraisal and recollection.

The man stepped closer, crossing his arms over his chest, “Is that all your father was _impressed_ by?”

Jaime snickered, “Is that jealousy I detect?”

“Jaime…” Brienne cautioned.

But he continued, “Let me guess, you’re the _loving_ boyfriend who doesn’t like the idea of her being so far away. So you convinced her it’s better to stay close to family than pursue a career she loves. Take a bit of friendly advice with someone who’s had a few more years than you – if you have to tie it down, you don’t love it,” Jaime spit the last words.

Thinking his point had hit home Jaime soured when Jon simply laughed, “I’m her _cousin_ , you sick fuck. And her best friend. And not that I owe an explanation to you, but I think it would be great for Sansa to take the opportunity your father offered her. I think he… I think the job would be good for her.”

Without another word the man was striding back to the campus but once more Jaime stopped him, handing him a business card, “This is my mobile number. The one I don’t give out to just anyone, so please don’t prove to be crazy. I’m in town two more nights.”

Jaime jogged to their rental car, a suspicious-looking Brienne waiting at the driver’s side. He threw his hands up in surrender, “I know, I’m a naughty boy. Perhaps you should handcuff me to the bed tonight and teach me some manners.”

Brienne tried to suppress a laugh – and failed.


	6. Chapter 6

Waiting in the hotel bar, Jon felt like he was committing the ultimate act of betrayal. He tapped his foot impatiently, sipping his Jack & Coke and thinking that it wasn’t too late to change his mind...

If only Sansa hadn’t been so damned stubborn. The night after Jaime’s unexpected visit, he tried to convince Sansa to reach out to Tywin Lannister, but she refused.

_“But San, the fact that Jaime was concerned enough to come here, doesn’t that mean Tywin cares? If it was just some one-night stand to him, certainly he wouldn’t be pining over you.”_

_“I’d hardly call it pining, Jon. He’s probably not used to being rejected and I just hurt his ego a bit. He’ll get over it.”_

_“And if you’re wrong? If he is a good guy, and he cares about you, and you feel something toward him – shouldn’t you at least see what’s there?”_

_“What’s there? **What’s there?!** What’s there is a man who’s twice my age, who my parents will never accept! A man who, if he’s remotely decent will want to be with me only because I’m carrying his child, and I don’t want to make him feel trapped, or obligated. What’s there is someone who will be nearing eighty when this kid is graduating from high school.”_

_“Well his age didn’t bother you so much when you were fucking him!”_

**_“Jon!”_ **

_“What? It’s true! It’s not the greatest age gap in the history of relationships, Sansa. Besides, the man is successful, wealthy, educated… I’m sure Ned and Catelyn would prefer that to you bringing home some drug addict or ex-con!”_

_“Oh, so those are my only options? I can’t date someone my own age who is also well-adjusted?”_

_“Then do it! Prove it!”_

_“Jon, don’t start this again; you know I haven’t had time to date.”_

_“Sansa that’s a fucking excuse. God, it doesn’t even have to be a date. Hook up with some guy you meet at work. Have a fling, see if there are sparks!”_

_“There **were**_ _sparks, Jon—”_ She had stopped herself before continuing.

He had gentled his tone, _“So then **talk** to him, San. I’m not saying marry him. I’m not saying take the job. Talk to him. Call him. Write him a fucking letter. Just see where it goes.”_

_“I don’t want it to go anywhere.”_

Suddenly it was so obvious what this was about, _“You’re afraid.”_

 _“I’m not afraid,”_ she scoffed.

_“Yes you are, and you have good reason. Harry… Petyr… Stannis… men you wanted to respect, date, befriend… men who all proved to be completely unworthy. Ramsay and his sick advances. And then there were all the pretty boys in high school, none of whom gave a damn about anything that wasn’t skin deep.”_

His cousin started crying. He knew he’d struck a nerve, but also knew the hormones were doing a number on her. He wondered if they were part of the reason for her being so unyielding about Tywin Lannister. And that was the exact thought he had when he texted Jaime Lannister to find out where he was staying. They agreed to meet the next night at 9 pm in the bar of his hotel…

And now Jon sat there waiting at… he looked to his watch… 8:57. He turned to look behind him, wondering if Jaime was waiting somewhere in the back. When he turned back around Jaime was sliding into the booth across from him. Jon flinched, “Damnit, Lannister…”

Jaime grinned back proudly, “Jumpy, aren’t we?”

Jon rolled his eyes, “Talk.”

“What, no foreplay?”

“Lannister, I get that you use humor to disarm people. You can save your tricks for someone dumb enough to fall for them. Tell me what you couldn’t say in the parking lot yesterday.”

“It’s not that I _couldn’t_ … I was rather hoping after seeing me your cousin would thaw. But the fact that you’re here makes me think that wasn’t the case.”

“What do you mean, _thaw_?”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “I’m not stupid either, Jon. Now I’m going to tell you a little theory, and you’re going to tell me how close I am to the truth…”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Go on.”

With a sigh, Jaime began the speech he’d rehearsed, “I believe my father and your cousin shared a _moment_ … whether that moment lasted a minute, an hour, a night, a week… I don’t know. But I think it meant something to my father and after seeing Sansa today I think it meant something to her. I think my father would have pursued it, but your cousin thwarted his efforts… I doubt she did it to be cruel, I suspect she had second thoughts due to my father’s reputation, his age, his aloof demeanor – it could be any number of things, really…” Jaime paused to take a breath, “Now, how close am I, on a scale of cold to hot.”

Jon chuckled, coaxing a smile out of Jaime, “Almost boiling.”

Jaime leaned forward conspiratorially, “And the _moment_ …?”

Jon crossed his arms, “Not for me to tell.”

“So more than a minute,” Jaime leaned back and mirrored Jon’s crossed arms.

Jon huffed, “This goes _nowhere_ , Lannister. I may not look it, but I’m quite capable of a killing a man with a gun, a knife, or even my bare hands – and getting away with it.”

Jaime faked a shiver, “You northerners _are_ tough… Anyway, this will go NOWHERE with one exception – if I choose to confront my father about Sansa…”

“Fine,” Jon conceded, “they spent a night together. _One_ night.”

“And Sansa was… _unsatisfied.”_

Jon was beet red, “Quite the opposite.”

“Oh. _Eww_. Uh, go Dad… So their problem wasn’t a lack of chemistry…”

Jon shook his head, “I’m getting really close to the limit of what I’m willing to share. I’m only talking to you at all because my cousin is… well, she hasn’t been herself for the past few months. She thought your father would think it was only a one-night stand. Now she’s afraid that he thought it was more.”

“Why would she be afraid, if she returns his feelings, that is?”

“Because she’s afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of what people will think of her, our family mainly. Her and her older brother Robb have always been the golden children.”

“No offense to your cousin, but isn’t she a bit old to be worrying about pleasing her parents?”

Jon laughed, “Tell _her_ that… but I don’t think that’s the main reason. Like I said, she’s afraid of getting hurt. Your father, _no offense_ , doesn’t give off a ‘warm and fuzzy’ vibe.”

Jaime couldn’t help but laugh. Jon had described Tywin Lannister to a T.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa lied in her childhood bed. She’d still be crying if her eyes hadn’t run dry more than an hour ago. She’d felt so conflicted and sharing her news with her family had only made it worse.

After dinner, she had confessed to her family that she was four months pregnant. There was a prolonged silence during which tears welled in Sansa’s eyes. Then her mother was kneeling at her side, holding her cheeks in both hands and smiling lovingly, _“That’s wonderful, my girl. I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be a mother!”_

Sansa nodded and forced a smile. In truth, she’d come to find the idea of having a child somewhat appealing. Despite her independent spirit she loved kids and always hoped to have them some day.

Her father also came over to hug her, albeit a bit more stiffly than her mother had. Her siblings sat in shock until Robb – _of course_ – asked who the father was.

Sansa felt her cheeks heat, _“I’m not ready to tell you that just yet. I hope you’ll understand my desire for privacy.”_

_“But you do **know** who the father is, right?”_

She glowered at her brother, _“Yes, Robb, I know who the father is. I haven’t been sleeping around if that’s what you’re asking.”_

At least her brother was good enough to look ashamed.

Her mom, now sitting in a chair but still holding Sansa’s hand, looked a bit concerned, _“You don’t have to tell us who he is Sansa, but I hope he is being supportive…”_

_Fuck._

_“Uh, well, I’m sure he would be if… if I had told him.”_

Several voices expressed indistinct surprise and disappointment.

 _“Look, I’m going to tell him, I just…”_ Sansa sighed, _“I’m not ready…”_

 _“Whatever, San,”_ Arya said, _“You don’t need a man by your side to be a good parent. You’ll have all of us.”_

Sansa smiled at her sister; though they often butted heads, Arya was fiercely supportive and protective of her family, and, in this moment, Sansa was glad for it.

Sansa answered the usual questions – her due date, whether she wanted to find out the gender, if she would move into a bigger apartment, and so-on – but eventually she begged off, saying she needed to get off her feet. It wasn’t a total lie; she was very fatigued but hadn’t gained enough weight to have aching feet yet.

Now she was in her bed a good hour later, staring at the walls that were still pink, when a knock sounded at the door. Her father entered, looking oddly shy.

“Hey, Doll,” he offered warmly. Sansa realized her tear ducts had, in fact, _not_ gone dry. Her father sprang into action, sitting on her bed and scooping her into a tight hug, “None of that sweet girl. This is a happy thing – having a child is a blessing, no matter how it came about…”

“You’re going to hate me, Daddy!” Sansa cried out, knowing she sounded juvenile.

“I could never hate you, Sansa. NEVER. And neither could your mother. We love you and are so proud of you. Our smart, beautiful, successful, independent daughter.”

Desperate to let the truth out, yet afraid of the potential fallout, Sansa tested the waters, “What if I told you it is someone much older than me?”

She felt her father tense, but he spoke gently, “You’ve always been wise beyond your years and mature for your age. You’re an old soul, sweetheart, I cannot fault you for wanting… for being attracted to someone older than you.”

“What if I told you it is someone known for being cold and ruthless?”

This time the tension released as her father spun her around to face him, holding her shoulders, “Stannis?! Did Stannis take advantage of you? Is that why you really quit?”

“No, Dad, I swear!”

“Roose Bolton? Jon told us about how he made advances on you. Sansa if he forced himself on—”

“No!” she stood up. “It wasn’t Roose or Stannis. Nobody took advantage of me, Dad… quite the opposite.”

Ned sat down on her bed heavily, rubbing his forehead, “Sansa, I promise I won’t tell your mother or anyone else you don’t want to know. But as your father there are horrible thoughts going through my mind right now. Would you please tell me who it is? I promise I won’t be mad as long as you’re telling the truth – that the… _encounter_ was… consensual; that you weren’t taken advantage of.”

Sansa closed her eyes and bit her lip. She couldn’t stand to see her father worried, and it seemed like a good time to tell him, having his promise not to get angry. So she did. And he sat there still and very quiet before simply replying, “Oh.”

Why it worried her so much what her father thought of Tywin Lannister was a mystery, but she felt obligated to tell her father the truth. She didn’t want him forming even more distasteful opinions of Tywin.

“He stood up for me with Roose, Dad. He even defended my actions to Stannis on the phone. We hit it off – in a professional way – and he invited me to do a pitch to the Stokeworths. He’s buying and preserving historic castles and their lands. When we did the pitch together it felt right, Dad. We complemented each other. We worked well together. Tywin showed me more respect than Stannis has in a long time. We went to dinner to discuss the possibility of me working for him, only we spent the night getting to know one another instead and… well, I guess you can figure out the rest. I thought it was a fling for him but apparently it wasn’t. His son Jaime came to visit me two weeks ago. He didn’t say it outright, but I think he knew something happened between me and Tywin, and that his father is…”

“Guilty?” Ned asked.

Sansa snorted, “Missing me.”

Ned turned away again, “Oh.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, her father no doubt processing all she’d confessed. Eventually he spoke again, “You know his children are all fucked up.”

Sansa almost balked at her father’s language, but then she smiled, “He confessed as much to me, and that he blames himself for becoming distant and aloof after his wife died. But between you and I, Jaime seemed rather nice, even if a little offbeat.”

Ned turned, staring at her incredulously, “He told you about his wife? About blaming himself for being a bad parent?”

Sansa nodded.

Her father’s face suddenly softened, “I guess I never questioned why he is the way he is, though I suppose if I’d lost your mother after having you, Robb, and Arya… well, I like to think I’d have done a better job, but I’d be lying if I claimed to know that for a fact.”

Sansa smiled and took her father’s hand, “I told Tywin the same. I think losing his wife was a trauma he never healed from.”

“You said that?” her father grinned for the first time since joining her in her bedroom, “See? Wise beyond your years.”

Sansa rolled her eyes but relished in the praise from her father, “Maybe I’m making him into something he’s not, Dad, but I think he is a good man beneath all that… façade. I think he can probably be too intense at times, but I think it’s driven by a deep caring he has for his family, his legacy… I don’t think he’s just this entitled rich guy, I think he works hard, expects a lot from others, yes, but no more than he’s willing to give of himself.”

Ned was staring at her again, “You care about him, don’t you?”

Sansa felt her cheeks blush, “I hardly know him.”

Her father shook his head, “Sweetheart, with some people, they know each other instantly, because their souls have already met.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “You’re saying Tywin Lannister is my soulmate? Really, Dad?”

Ned laughed, “I don’t know, dear, but I think you owe it to yourself to find out. He also deserves to know about…” his eyes flashed to her belly.

Sansa smiled weakly, “I know, Dad. I can’t be afraid forever.”

Ned stroked her cheek, “My girl, you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

The tears were back, though this time there was relief and happiness behind them. She shook her head as she dabbed her eyes. Ned only chuckled, “Your mother was the same way when she was pregnant with you and with Arya. She once cried over spilt milk – _literally_ – Robb dumped his bowl of cheerios on the floor after she’d just mopped it, and she cried for at least ten minutes.”

Sansa laughed, knowing what she must do.

\---------------------------

Two weeks after breaking the news to her family, Sansa flew to Lannisport to finally make things right with Tywin. She called Jaime Lannister and didn’t tell him about her pregnancy but asked for his advice on when she could meet with his father in private. She didn’t want to show up at his office in the middle of a workday, uncertain how he would react. Jaime told her to come to Casterly Rock on Friday night – he would be there dining privately with his father and promised to play buffer or mediator if one was needed or excuse himself entirely if it wasn’t. By the playfulness in his tone, Sansa suspected Jaime knew her relationship with his father had been of a sexual nature.

Sansa and Jaime also discussed whether or not to tell Tywin about her visit ahead of time. They decided it was best to, so he wouldn’t feel betrayed by Jaime and Sansa conversing behind his back, and so that he wouldn’t be shocked into a heart attack upon seeing her (Jaime’s words).

Her own heart raced as she stood at the front door of the mansion that was Casterly Rock. Even in her stress-addled mind she could appreciate its size and splendor. She summoned the courage to ring the bell and paced the porch to calm her nerves. She assumed a servant would open the door, so when the door opened and she spun around to see Tywin himself standing there, she nearly jumped.

Though expecting her visit, his eyes looked equally shocked. She knew her flowing blouse and jacket hid her small bump, so it was truly just her presence – here in the flesh – that stunned him. She knew exactly how he felt as tears welled in her eyes, “Tywin – I’m so sorry!” she cried.

In an instant she was in his arms, but she couldn’t stop the outpouring of emotion, “I was afraid it was just a fling, and then I was afraid it wasn’t, and then I was afraid it was… and—”

“Shhh… it’s alright my dear. It wasn’t a fling for me; it was—”

“Wait, Tywin, before you say anything you’ll regret, I need to tell you something… I… I…”

He pulled away from her with a predatory grin on his face, “I love you too, Sansa.”

She felt her eyes blown wide, “You do?!”

“Yes. Though I didn’t know it until I found myself spending every second of every day thinking about you…” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, “Why do you look so surprised? Is that not what you were going to say?”

She giggled, “No, but I do love you – though I didn’t know it until five seconds ago. I was going to say _I’m pregnant._ ”

\---------------------

Tywin knew he should say something, or do something, or at least wear an expression other than one of wide-eyed shock, but he was powerless to do anything.

When his mouth finally formed words, he recognized them as possibly the worst thing he could say, “It’s mine?”

Sansa forced a smile, “I wouldn’t be standing here telling you about it if it weren’t…”

He could only stare at her.

She shook her head, finding something in his reaction to be lacking, “I’m not here to ask for anything, Tywin. I’m more than capable of providing for a child, even if I didn’t have my family’s support... It’s my fault, I was on birth control but with how busy I’d been and traveling all the time, I… never mind; it doesn’t matter.” Tears were forming in her lashes that he wanted to kiss away, but she also looked angry as she continued talking, “I just thought you had the right to know.”

“I…” too many thoughts were competing for Tywin’s attention – leaving him unable to focus on any one of them. Sansa was looking down at her feet, seemingly ashamed. He knew she was waiting for him to speak but he was clueless as to what precisely she wanted to here. Did she want him to get down on one knee right now and propose? Did she want him to tell her that he would be a part of this child’s life? Or – and this thought frightened him – was she looking for permission to terminate the pregnancy?

Always practical, Tywin settled on what he thought was a safe response, “I fully support you in whatever you decide to do.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She snorted, shook her head, and turned to leave.

Tywin followed her to her car, “Wait, Sansa, what do you—”

“Don’t worry about what I want to hear, what I want to do, or anything else. I meant what I said about not needing anything from you. I don’t need your _support_ ; I don’t need your money… I came here because you deserved to know, and I’ve told you so now I need to get back.”

He caught her arm, “What am I supposed to say?” For the first time in decades he felt completely lost. He felt saying the wrong thing would be detrimental to their relationship – whatever that may be – but he needed time to process everything she’d told him. Then he’d know what to say. She said she loved him, did that mean she was hoping he’d make some romantic gesture – that he’d tell her how happy she’d made him with this news? That he couldn’t wait to be a father _again_?

_Am I happy? Do I want this?_

He was confused; he’d never expected to have any emotional bond with a woman after Joanna. He never expected to have a family again, and though the thought of it now wasn’t unappealing at face value, he was soon to turn fifty-eight. Was it fair to a child to have a father that was almost guaranteed to leave this world before said child got married? Had children of their own?

He needed time to think, but he also needed to stop Sansa from leaving. “Sansa, please. You’re emotional and in no shape to drive.”

She gritted her teeth, “I’m always emotional, Tywin, I’m _pregnant_. I drive home from work crying because a sad song comes on the radio. I think I can make it ten miles to my hotel!”

“Sansa, please, can you just give me time to think?”

“You can think all you want. I need to get back; I have a flight to catch in the morning.”

He suspected she was lying but didn’t probe. Instead he stood in his driveway and watched her drive away, wishing he could re-do the entire evening.

\---------------------------

Sansa drove back to her hotel feeling utterly humiliated. She had gone to Tywin’s house with no definitive expectation, but as soon as he had pulled her into his arms and confessed his love, it felt like everything was falling into place. As soon as the ‘L word’ came from his lips Sansa knew the emotion was reflected in her own heart. She told him such, then without pause or preamble she told him she was pregnant…

…and that’s when it all fell apart.

Tywin had literally flinched at her words, his face paling. Sansa instantly felt like a fool. Of course Tywin – an almost sixty-year-old man – wouldn’t want another child. He loved her as she was during their brief time together in King’s Landing – he loved her because of her skills as a negotiator; he loved her pragmatism and her passion; her independence. She had all but admitted that she wasn’t hell-bent on having kids. She probably was Tywin’s idea of the perfect woman – intelligent, hard-working, well-bred, and likely younger and prettier than any woman he would hope to snag at his age. But throw an unplanned pregnancy into the mix and all those fine attributes would quickly be neutralized.

Of course, Tywin was a gentleman. He offered to support her no matter her choice – and she knew what that meant: that he wouldn’t mind if she got rid of it. Did he not realize she was now too far along for that? Perhaps he didn’t; perhaps he did. If he did, then he was offering her financial support: _‘here’s a blank check; have a nice life with my child.’_

Sansa had arrived at the hotel parking lot but couldn’t get out her car. She was a red-eyed, tear-streaked mess, and she couldn’t walk into the hotel lobby until she composed herself. She was sad and angry and afraid, and she needed an outlet for her emotions. She picked up her phone and dialed Jon’s number, and unleashed everything she had on him, eager to blame his meddling instead of her own naivety.

\---------------------------

“Dad?”

Jaime stood at the far end of the foyer near the dining room. His father had been outside talking to Sansa for less than five minutes. When he came back inside, he leaned against the door, staring at nothing in particular. He didn’t even seem to be aware of Jaime’s presence even though they’d been chatting in the dining room just before Sansa’s arrival.

Jaime cleared his throat when his greeting went unanswered for over a minute, “Dad, everything okay?”

Tywin only shook his head, still not meeting Jaime’s eyes. Jaime couldn’t help but feel both disappointed and guilty. After his individual conversations with Jon, Tywin, and Sansa he was _certain_ the pair would rekindle whatever spark of passion was born when they met in King’s Landing those months ago. Now he regretted ever getting involved – ever trying to play matchmaker – because it was clear that Sansa had only come here to politely rip his father’s heart out… the heart she only recently resuscitated after thirty years in a coma.

Jaime nodded a delayed reaction to his father’s nonverbal response. He returned to the dining room and poured two scotches, then sat and waited in silence. Five minutes later his father walked in, still looking as if in a daze.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I thought—”

Tywin silenced him with a raised hand, “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s good she came here.”

Jaime snorted, “Doesn’t seem like it was _good_.”

Tywin shook his head, “I told her I love her,” he spoke quietly – unusual for his father.

Jaime fought to contain a grimace, “And she didn’t return the sentiment,” he stated, not asked.

“She did, without pause.” His father’s cheeks reddened, “Then she told me she is pregnant.” For the first time since he went out to the porch, his father met Jaime’s eyes. His expression was one Jaime had never seen on the man, and Jaime couldn’t quite define it.

Jaime’s mind finally caught up with his father’s words, “Dad, that’s wonderful!”

Jaime knew his father better than anyone but his Uncle Kevan. He knew his father was a hardened man, but also knew that beneath thick armor was a man capable of deep caring. Jaime had long ago forgiven his father for the walls he erected around himself after Jaime’s mother died. He had resented his father for a long time, but only after tasting his own heartbreak – a year-long relationship that ended abruptly – was he able to sympathize with his father’s loss. Over the thirty years since Tywin lost his wife, his reputation for being heartless was widely known and well earned, and Tywin had profited off of that reputation. But Jaime knew, even during the periods he and his father were at odds, that he wasn’t heartless, he just put his heart in a cage lest it ever be broken again.

He also knew, though his father never said it explicitly, that the man had deep regret over his failings as a father. So no matter how unexpected Sansa’s pregnancy may be – and whatever the future may hold for Sansa and Tywin as a couple – this was his father’s second chance to be an active father. He had slowed down his work schedule in the past few years and would have time to be there for everything – birthday parties, Little League games, skinned knees, learning to drive… every milestone…

Except of course, the later milestones. Tywin was a healthy man, but would he be there for a college graduation? A first apartment? Would he live long enough to walk a daughter down the aisle, or to whisper words of encouragement to a son who got cold feet on the eve of his wedding?

Jaime swallowed thoughts that threatened to make him tear up. His father hadn’t responded to him so Jaime decided to address what he was sure his father’s concerns were, “Dad – I know it may not be what you’d have wished for, and I can imagine the reservations you have, but it happened anyway. You can choose to be a loving partner to Sansa and loving father to your child, or you can choose to keep on living your life as you—”

Tywin interrupted him, speaking unequivocally, “I choose her; _them_.”

Jaime smiled, “Then why are you here? Why did you let her leave?”

Tywin leaned back, “For fuck’s sake, Jaime. It was rather a lot to process. And I wasn’t sure she was even _asking_ me to choose her, or just appraising me of the situation. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing… to—”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Dad, take some advice: when it comes to love and feelings, say what you mean, not what you think she wants to here. And note I said when it comes to _love and feelings_ – I’m not saying you should tell her how swollen her ankles are when she’s eight months pregnant.”

Tywin snorted, “Even I know that much.”

When more minutes passed with his father making no movement, Jaime circled his hands in the air, “Is there a reason you’re still sitting here?”

Tywin looked at him, surprised, “Don’t you think I should give her time to cool off, to collect herself? She seemed rather upset.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Great idea, give her time to replay the entire conversation over and over again, over-analyze every word said, and come to the conclusion that you’re the biggest ass in the world.”

Tywin scowled but seemed to quickly realize Jaime was right, “So do I go to her hotel or call her?”

Jaime rolled his eyes but was secretly enjoying this turn of the tables. His father was always the one making Jaime feel inadequate because he wasn’t a business wizard. It felt mercenary given his father’s current predicament, but Jaime couldn’t resist rubbing in the fact that in at least _this_ domain, Jaime was the expert, and his father the novice.

His father rose, taking Jaime’s silence for his answer, “Right. Do you know where she is staying?”

“Lannisport Inn & Suites. Do you need me to write directions?”

Tywin missed Jaime’s sarcasm, “No, I’m sure Addam knows the way.”

Jaime stared at him, eyebrow cocked.

“What? No Addam?”

Jaime shook his head.

“Why does it matter?” Tywin huffed.

“Because you’re going there as Tywin – father of her child, once and possibly future lover – not _Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion of real estate_. Do something romantic; drive her to the beach, take a walk in the sand.”

Tywin nodded, “That actually makes sense.”

Jaime stretched his hands out, palms up, “I’m a veritable treasure trove of untapped knowledge.”

Tywin snorted, “I won’t ask how many women you went through to acquire such wisdom.”

Jaime grinned, “What can I say? I’m a very diligent student.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow - can't believe how many people commented on this fic. I'm glad you're enjoying it and thank you to everyone who read it and especially those who left kudos or comments. THANK YOU.

It took Tywin twenty minutes to reach the hotel, and he was rehearsing his apology during the whole time. When he stepped out of his Mercedes, he wouldn’t have noticed Sansa’s white rental car a few spaces down, except that he could hear a faint voice coming from inside it. A faint but very _angry_ female voice giving someone a tongue lashing. Tywin’s momentary courage evaporated.

He took a deep breath and began walking slowly toward her car, her voice becoming clearer with each fearful step he took.

_“…don’t you dare defend him! You weren’t there and you didn’t see—”_

Tywin winced, seriously doubting the logic of Jaime’s advice to go to Sansa right away.

 _“Oh don’t worry, I’m not blaming it **all** on you; I’ll be having words with Jaime Lannister too that nosy little—” _With one final deep breath in and out Tywin opened the door, sat in the passenger seat, and closed the door. He looked only at the windshield but could tell Sansa had turned her head to look at him. The male voice on the other end was speaking but Tywin couldn’t discern the words.

“I’ll call you back, Jon,” Sansa said calmly, then after another reply Tywin couldn’t hear she huffed, “Yes, I’m still mad. But I have to go.” The beep told Tywin she’d hung up the phone.

Tywin took yet another deep breath, staring at the windshield as raindrops began pattering on it. It was a good thing he didn’t believe in signs, or this would certainly register as an ominous one.

“I’ve been formulating an apology for the last twenty minutes,” he began, “but I’ve decided I won’t apologize; nor would I expect you to apologize to me when you’d done nothing wrong.”

She began to squeak out a protest but he raised his hand, still not meeting her eyes, “I admit I did not react as well as I could have, but after leaving my hotel room without so much as a goodbye and not making any type of contact for four months, you show up on my doorstep and tell me you’re pregnant. If you think _any_ man – let alone one who is pushing sixty – would have been able to process that news _and_ immediately formulate an appropriate response, then you are grossly over-estimating men.”

“Tywin, I—”

“No. I need to say this before I lose my nerve. After I say it, we can talk more, or you can kick me out of your car, or you can invite me up to your hotel room.”

She nodded and swallowed so loudly he could hear it even over the beating of rain on the hood.

“I enjoyed every second I spent with you, Sansa. I enjoyed talking with you, dining with you, working with you, and sleeping with you… By my estimation about forty hours passed between you walking into that bar in your grey skirt and blue blouse and you walking out of my suite while I was still asleep. Out of those forty hours I had only one unpleasant minute, and it was when Roose Bolton put his filthy hand on your beautiful knee. Other than that I was happy. Even when I slept, I was happy. I know this because I fell asleep happy and awoke happy. After thirty years of closing myself off from virtually all happiness, all affection, I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. I saw only the great potential of us working together and being together. I didn’t think about our age difference. I didn’t even think about my late wife. It was all you, Sansa. For forty hours I lived and breathed you, and it was fucking heaven…”

He saw her lower her head as if in shame, but he continued. He would bear his soul and let her judge him as either worthy or unworthy of her salvation.

“When I realized I wasn’t going to see you again – professionally or otherwise – I told myself it was for the best; that I’d never be able to give you what you need and what you deserve: a man who will be with you for every step, a man you can share decades with, a man who you can grow old with. But I’m greedy, Sansa, and the feeling of being unworthy didn’t stop me from wanting you…”

He took a deep breath through his nostrils before continuing, “There are many things in my life I would do over, if given the chance. I would go back and cherish every _second_ I had with Joanna. I would have been sure to be home every night to tuck my kids in, and every morning to see them off to school. I wouldn’t have let relationships with family and friends wither and die. It wouldn’t have taken me over thirty years to realize I could be successful in business while also having a moral code.”

Tywin sighed, but Sansa must have known he had more to say, for she remained silent.

“I think now of all the things that had to transpire just for us to be in the bar of the Regency Hotel at the same time. I had to decide to work there instead of my suite, which isn’t always the case. You had to work for Stannis, stay there for six years, get assigned to the Bolton deal, have Bolton storm out of your meeting, and decide to ease your tension with a gin and tonic at the bar. Bolton had to be an intolerable prick so that I’d intervene. Since that day I’ve been dreaming of ways to ruin him professionally, only now I suddenly think I might just send him a Thank You card instead. Because he was one of the many factors – one of the many pieces that had to fall into place so that you and I would be in the right place at the right time. And that is so important because…”

Tywin shook his head, afraid to voice the words but knowing there was no turning back now, “Because meeting you was like being gifted a second chance. I won’t stop to wonder why I deserve it, but I’m going to grab it with both hands if you let me. I’m a bitter old man, surely no young woman’s fantasy, but what I lack in youthful vitality or boyish good looks I will make up for tenfold in love and dedication.”

Tywin finally turned to face her, “Because unlike some young men, I know that a wife and family are something that should be cherished every second of every day… that should never be taken for granted. If you’d let me love you, I’d do so as fiercely as the lion I’m known to be. If you let me be the father to this child, he or she will want for nothing; I will give my child and any future children a lifetime’s worth of love compressed into whatever time I have left. And I will honor you every single day.”

Before his very eyes her expression changed from bewilderment to joy. Tywin offered a rare smile of his own, content that for once in his life, when it came to matters of the heart, he’d said just the right thing.

\-------------------------

Tywin awoke in semi-conscious bliss as he’d done those four months ago in his hotel suite. Then, just like in the hotel suite, he startled upon realizing Sansa was no longer in his arms. He sat up with a swiftness that made him feel lightheaded – an unnecessary reminder of his age.

He rose from his king-size bed but when he reached for his silk robe where he always left it draped over the armchair, it wasn’t there.

Tywin didn’t bother fighting the grin.

Nor did he bother with any clothing except for a pair of boxers that was in the heap of clothes on the floor near his bed. He walked to the balcony that overlooked the cliffs where ocean waves crashed, and there she was, soaking in the morning sun, which a look of pure contentment on her face – not a shred of doubt or regret.

Tywin wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling into her disheveled hair, “Only engaged what, twelve hours, and you already think what’s mine is yours?” he whispered, tugging on the sleeve of her – _his_ – robe.

She turned within his arms, looking him up and down with appreciation, “I have no designs on your robe, or any of your other possessions… just wanted to give you a reason to walk around in _naught but your skivvies_ ,” she wrinkled her nose playfully.

“No need for schemes, you could have just asked,” he nipped at her neck, eliciting a surprised yelp that sent blood south. Perhaps he wasn’t such an old man after all; he’d taken her twice last night – once at her hotel room when they went in to retrieve her belongings, and once in the large shower in Tywin’s en suite.

It was when they laid in her hotel bed, a knot of long and sweaty limbs, that Tywin decided to take his son’s advice once more and speak from the heart without fear. _“Marry me,”_ he said, realizing the words came out sounding resolute rather than humble, but he couldn’t take them back.

He’d expected a litany of excuses to be her response, even after they both declared their love and then showed their love in a slow yet ravenous coupling on her hotel bed. But instead his little negotiator only made some demands of her own, _“Only if we can do it right away, and only if you’re not asking because of this,”_ she had rubbed a hand down her belly.

He snorted, _“We can do it tomorrow if you wish. And you think too highly of me if you think I’d marry a woman just because I’d knocked her up.”_

Sansa had swatted his chest and it felt as right as anything Tywin Lannister had felt in years. He thought they’d speak no more on the topic of marriage but was pleased to be wrong when Sansa rested her chin on his chest, _“Sunday then. I’ll sign whatever you want, Tywin, but I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to doubt this or let anyone else convince me I should.”_

Tywin realized she was mentioning a prenuptial agreement, which, oddly, hadn’t even crossed his mind. He must be going senile; isn’t this how old men got swindled out of their fortunes? By falling for a beautiful, sweet young woman who would stick around for a couple years then divorce them and take everything? Surely Sansa wasn’t like that, though. She was raised by Ned and Catelyn Stark – the definition of an honorable and upstanding couple. She chose to work – and a difficult, stressful job at that – instead of living off her family’s fortune.

Sansa was looking up at him, worry now clouding her eyes, _“I’m sorry – you were obviously joking when you said we could do it as soon as tomorrow… am I scaring you away? We don’t have to do it Sunday.”_

He looked down at her and shook his head, _“Truth? I was wondering if we should bother with a prenup.”_

Her jaw dropped and he thought it was with pleased shock until she sat up, arms crossed over her lovely breasts, _“I’m not marrying a dummy, and if you’d marry me without a prenup, then you’re most certainly a dummy. And a cliché. And we are **not** giving your family any reason to resent me.”_

Now it was Tywin’s turn to sit up, _“The few people in my family I care about will support me whatever I do. On the other hand, perhaps your family will be assured of my commitment and trust for you if we don’t make our marriage a legal transaction!”_

Her face reddened and it took her a few minutes to reply, _“Sunday. At the Rock. With a prenup. That’s my final offer, Mr. Lannister.”_

Tywin rose then and pulled on his clothes, letting her wonder what his answer was. As he fastened his belt through his slacks he grumbled, _“Let’s go then. I have much to do tomorrow – I have to meet with my attorney and see about an officiant, and you need to plan a shotgun wedding. We need a good night’s sleep, and I intend to fuck you again before we go to bed.”_

Sansa had jumped for joy, making it impossible for Tywin to continue his parody of a put-upon fiancé. She dressed hastily then threw toiletries and clothing in her suitcase with lightning speed and alarming sloppiness and was leading him out the door four minutes later. After checking out and driving both their cars to the Rock, Tywin practically dragged her up the stairs, with a promise of a grand tour tomorrow. Jaime stood stunned in the foyer, managing only to wave at Sansa when she greeted him with a _“Hi Jaime!”_ Then they were in the master bedroom, then the master bathroom, then the oversized shower, where Tywin proved to his much-younger wife that he was still fit enough to hold her up and fuck her senseless against the tile wall. He also demonstrated his multi-tasking ability as he used a thumb to circle her clit while his tongue circled a nipple until her cries echoed through the spacious bathroom.

…

Tywin mused now that he had already had Sansa on a dining table and in a shower – not too shabby for an old lion, especially one who was about to add _ocean view balcony_ to the list, judging by the heated look in his fiancé’s eyes.

Tywin let Sansa push him down into one of the lounge chairs. She wasted not a moment before straddling him and kissing him breathless. While she worked his cock free of his underwear, he untied and pulled the robe down from her shoulders, wanting to see her in all her glory in the bright morning sun. Tywin smirked knowing her red hair would be like a beacon to any passing yachters, drawing their eyes (and binoculars) to what was happening on Tywin Lannister’s balcony. _Good, let them see what’s mine._

He stroked his knuckles along her slightly rounded belly, and, as if thinking he could somehow make her even more pregnant, his cock twitched and swelled at the sight. She didn’t make him wait long, sinking onto him with a sigh of relief as if it had been years – not hours – since she’d had him inside her. With her feet planted on the ground on either side of the armless lounger, she had full control. She sank down on him with all her weight, and moaned, “Fuck, Tywin. I think your cock was made for me.” It was uncharacteristically vulgar of her, but he loved this unabashed Sansa just as he loved the reserved Sansa who blushed when he looked upon her naked flesh.

Tywin bent his knees and planted his feet flat on the chair to penetrate at a new angle. Sansa leaned back, now supported partially by his thighs, and the way her torso elongated made him want to lick every inch of her. The need to touch her overwhelmed him, and he grasped her hips and backside and guided her fluid movements, aware but unable to relax the fingers that dug into her flesh possessively.

After blissful minutes her flushed and dewy skin and staccato breaths told him she was close. He helped guide her even more, now that her movements had become erratic in her phrenzy, but when she slid a finger between their bodies to stroke her clit, it was _he_ that almost lost control. That she was comfortable enough with him to ride him and touch herself out in the broad daylight, fully exposed, made his chest ache with pride and love. She doubted herself too often, but when she was sure of something she dove in headfirst, and with unrestrained passion.

He watched her reach her pleasure and the sight – along with the sudden, rapid gyration of her hips on his primed cock – brought him barreling over the edge.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon’s plane landed in Lannisport early Sunday afternoon. He’d booked the ticket only yesterday at Sansa’s insistence. She had been cagey about why she needed him to come here, but he knew she wouldn’t ask it of him if it weren’t important. Luckily it was only a two-hour flight from Winterfell.

Sansa greeted him at the pickup area with a smile he wasn’t expecting after she chewed him a new asshole on Friday night.

During the drive from the airport Sansa’s nervousness was palpable. He asked her three times to tell him what had happened but each time her answer had been the same: “ _You’ll know soon enough.”_

His mind raced through every possibility, though none were sensical. Frighteningly, his most viable theory he had was that Sansa had murdered Tywin Lannister in a crime of passion and needed Jon to help her move and dispose of the body.

After a half hour in her car they pulled up to a stone mansion that was easily big enough to be a museum, college dormitory, or castle to kings and queens of old. He supposed it technically _was_ a castle.

“Um, San – are we where I think we are?”

She bit her lip and nodded nervously, “It’s Tywin’s estate. Casterly Rock.”

“San…?”

Before he could form a question, she hopped out, retrieved his bag from the backseat, and beckoned him up the large stone stairs that led to a front door larger than most garage doors. Sansa walked in without knocking as if it were her own house. Inside Jaime Lannister was descending a wide, winding staircase. He smiled warmly at Sansa before extending his hand to Jon, “Nice to be reunited with my co-conspirator.”

Jon ran a hand through his dark curls, “San – I thought you were bringing me here to help get rid of Tywin Lannister’s body… with his son here looking quite unperturbed, I’m starting to think you have something else in store for me.”

Jaime chuckled at Jon’s comment but looked quizzically at Sansa, “You haven’t told him yet?”

Jon’s cousin blushed scarlet, “I was afraid he wouldn’t come if he knew.”

“Alright,” Jon said firmly, “What is going on?”

Sansa took a deep breath, “You’re here to be a witness…”

“And _not_ to a crime,” Jaime clarified with a satisfied smirk.

“A witness?” Jon asked.

Sansa nodded.

“A witness _to_ …?”

Sansa shrugged, “Just a… a wedding.”

Jon instantly felt like the room was spinning, and he steadied himself with one hand on the bannister. Jaime looked amused while Sansa looked concerned. Jon addressed the latter, “We need to talk,” then the former, “and I need a drink.”

…

An hour later Sansa had filled Jon in on all that had transpired between his phone conversation with her Friday night and now. He who had encouraged Sansa to make things right with Tywin was now interrogating her (and Jaime) about the relationship…

Does she really love him? _Yes._

Is he just marrying her because of the baby? _No_

Sansa knows what she’s getting into by hitching her cart to an ‘old horse’? _Yes._

Does he really love her? _Yes._

Where will they live? _Here at Casterly, but with Tywin’s jet they can pop in at Winterfell anytime for a visit._

There were other questions that Jon couldn’t remember after they spoke nonstop for an hour, but he felt satisfied that theirs was a true love match, and that Tywin would treat his cousin well. He had only one lingering concern, which he voiced then, “Why are you rushing into this? Don’t you want to do this right – have a big wedding, with all our family there?”

Sansa frowned, but spoke with assurance, “No. I don’t want to wait, and I don’t want to give anyone any opportunity to try to convince us not to do this. I know my heart, Jon, and I know Tywin’s. Tywin isn’t rushing into this blindly – he’s had thirty years to re-marry. And I’m twenty-eight, not eighteen – I know what I want…”

She sighed, “I love my parents, my brothers and sister, but the age difference alone will give them pause… and Tywin’s kids – other than Jaime – well, let’s just say they aren’t the best relationships. His daughter will think I’m a gold-digger, no matter that I come from wealth. His youngest son isn’t in the country, and likely wouldn’t want to be here, anyway…”

Sansa took a deep breath and clasped his hand, “Jon, you and Jaime supported this from the start. Neither of you made us feel bad about our relationship, our age difference, our… _blunder.._. It’s not that I don’t want Mom and Dad here – or Arya, Robb, Bran, and Rickon – but frankly, Tywin and I want this to be a private moment. We considered going to the courthouse and getting hitched with a clerk as a witness, but we just thought that you and Jaime might want to be here, and that someday we might be glad that _some_ of our family shared our moment. I didn’t tell you over the phone not just because I was afraid you’d say no, but I didn’t want to put you in a position to have to keep it from my parents, even if only for a day.”

Jon couldn’t resist the smile that formed on his lips. This is the Sansa he loved to see – the one who was confident and self-assured. Sansa doubted herself often, but when she _knew_ something, she was rarely wrong. Though he now had doubts about how their family would react, he recognized that this was about Tywin and Sansa – and no one else.

“It’s your life, and your wedding, San. People elope every day and their families come to accept it. I’m honored to be a part of your day, though I know Robb is going to give me shit about it,” he chuckled.

Sansa chuckled, “Thanks, Jon.”

Jon nodded and slapped his thighs, “So I guess we’re all going to the courthouse tomorrow?”

Sansa blushed again, “No, more like the backyard… in three hours.”

\--------------------------------

Tywin couldn’t help but be pleased and flattered by Sansa’s rejection of all the traditional marriage tropes. She wanted to be married to him, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t ask her cousin to walk her down the ‘aisle’. She didn’t insist on the finest white gown they could find in their limited timeframe (which, for Tywin Lannister’s bride, would have been nicer than most women wore for their wedding). She didn’t make the men wear suits. She didn’t insist on not seeing Tywin before the wedding, though he made himself scarce so Sansa could speak to her cousin without Tywin’s intimidating presence. Though apparently the young man was not easily intimidated. He insisted on speaking with Tywin man-to-man and, again, Tywin was expecting the cliché, _“If you ever do anything to hurt my cousin…”_ but instead Jon shook his hand, welcomed him to the family, and told him how lucky he was, not that he needed reminding.

Tywin could only stare back in disbelief, _“That’s it? No warnings or threats?”_

Jon shrugged, _“You fuck up, you’ll lose Sansa. What could I say that would scare you more than that prospect?”_

Tywin himself shrugged, _“Good point.”_

Now, as the sun began its descent over the water, Tywin and Sansa walked hand-in-hand to the stone patio that jutted out over the cliffs and exchanged silent vows while the officiant spoke words of love, honor, and commitment. She wore a yellow and white sundress, and he wore tan slacks and a white linen button-up shirt.

When it was time, Tywin slipped a plain platinum wedding band on Sansa’s finger, and she did the same to his. Tywin’s jeweler had come by the prior afternoon with a variety of simple bands that could be sized to fit them within a day. Sansa chose the most understated design after one minute of deliberation. The jeweler, Eryk, a man Tywin knew for decades, smiled to himself after Sansa left the room to scout the estate for the perfect spot to exchange their vows. Tywin looked at the older man, _“What’s so funny?”_

Eryk shook his head, _“I’ve done my share of these last-minute weddings. Never seen a woman so disinterested in what’s going to be slid onto her finger.”_

Tywin knew it was a compliment; the elder jeweler, in all his wisdom, was telling Tywin that he wasn’t about to marry some gold-digger. Even so, Tywin insisted on being showed the other pieces he’d requested the man bring. It took Tywin only a minute to decide on an eternity band that had a total four carats of diamond and garnet stones of the finest quality. It paired nicely with a 2-carat round diamond solitaire. He could easily afford a bigger stone, but he knew Sansa wouldn’t be comfortable with a garish rock. She was effortlessly beautiful with classic taste, and her ring should reflect that in its timeless design. Tywin had chuckled to himself, remembering how during their first dinner together she referred to him by both these words – _classic_ and _timeless._

…

After the metaphorical knot was officially tied, Tywin kissed his smiling bride to the cheers of their _guests_ , whose liveliness made up for their small number.

The foursome dined outside by candlelight, enjoying a simple meal of chicken piccata prepared by Tywin’s live-in chef. Tywin believed in rewarding those who served him well, so he liked to believe his staff found him to be a fair and generous master, but it was clear after only two days at the Rock that they were falling in love with Sansa’s gracious and warm nature and already looking forward to having a mistress to serve.

Similarly, Jaime and Sansa got along famously, already forming something of a sibling bond even though she was now technically his stepmother, and Jaime made a point of calling her ‘mom’ after the ceremony, if only to annoy her and Jon. Sansa had her own fun – swatting Jaime’s hand away from the bowl of berries and cream that was brought out while they were still working on the main course, “Not until you finish your dinner, young man!” she scolded playfully.

Jaime lowered his head in mock shame, “Yes, mom.”

After dinner, it would seem there was one feature of a traditional wedding that Sansa was unwilling to go without. When Neil Young’s _Harvest Moon_ came over the outdoor speakers, Sansa pulled Tywin to his feet, “Come on husband, I better find out whether you can dance before it’s too late to return you.”

Tywin grumbled but did not disappoint, and Sansa’s arched eyebrow told him she was impressed. Though it had been decades since he’d _wanted_ to dance with anyone, he’d been to enough charity balls that the skill never became entirely rusty.

With the starry sky canopy, the flicker of candlelight, and the chorus of waves crashing below them, Tywin couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening. As he pulled Sansa closer, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue. I finally finished something! Though it's the epilogue there are some flashbacks that explain what has happened between Tywin and Sansa's wedding and today. I hope the jumping back and forth isn't confusing - italicized dialogue text indicates the past - that should help. 
> 
> I intend to write some one-shots in this universe. Some smutty, some fluffy, some maybe even suspenseful or angsty. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented and left kudos.

**Four years later**

“Josie, your cousin is not a baby doll for you to play with,” Tywin lightly scolded.

“But he cute!”

“That’s because he takes after his daddy,” Jaime spoke, a smug grin on his face. Beside him Brienne rolled her eyes behind a cup of coffee.

“ _You_ his daddy!” Josie stated, proud to have such knowledge.

“Allegedly,” Jaime shrugged, earning himself a reprimand from Brienne.

Two months after Tywin’s own wedding, Jaime took his father’s advice and decided not to let a good thing slip away. Using all his charm he somehow convinced the fiercely independent Brienne to marry him. Tywin and a heavily pregnant Sansa were their witnesses at the courthouse. That night a rowdy celebration had been held at a local pub by Brienne’s brothers-in-blue.

A month after Sansa gave birth to their daughter Josie, Brienne and Jaime announced that they, too, were expecting. Brienne was at ten weeks when they made the announcement. Sansa, who’d been an emotional rollercoaster since giving birth, cried tears of joy and practically flung herself on Brienne and Jaime, _“Oh, our kids are going to grow up together!”_ Month-old Josie stirred at sensing her mother’s emotional surge, and without pausing her detailed outline of all the things they could do together as a family – beach days at Casterly Rock, trips to the zoo, building snowmen next winter up north – Sansa unsheathed a breast so fussy Josie could latch on. The normally un-embarrassable Jaime blushed crimson while Brienne reveled in his discomfort. Oblivious to everything but her nursing babe and her own excitement, Sansa was now realizing that their kids would likely go to school together, only one grade apart.

Seven months later, when Brienne gave birth to a healthy, blue-eyed boy named Kevan after Jaime’s uncle, Sansa was there to help Brienne at every step, and Tywin marveled at how his young wife could be so kind and motherly. Despite his initial reservations, Tywin thanked the Gods every day for blessing them with Josie. Sansa’s pregnancy brought her back into Tywin’s life. And since becoming a mother, Sansa continued to impress Tywin on a daily basis. She was a natural, and if Tywin had never gotten to see this side of her, it would have been a crime.

…

As Tywin made pancakes that Sunday morning, watching Josie and Kevan in the playpen out of the corner of his eye even though Brienne and Jaime were right beside them, he thought back to Josie’s birth...

Sansa was four days past her due date. Her mother Catelyn had been staying with them at Casterly Rock for over a week at that point, and Tywin was glad for it despite the fact that Catelyn still seemed somewhat guarded around her son-in-law. Tywin had begun panicking a month before Sansa’s due date. Up to that point they had been a pair of happy newlyweds, enjoying an active life both in and out of the bedroom as pregnancy suited Sansa once her short-lived period of morning sickness was over. But at eight months the pregnancy began to take its toll on her body. Swollen ankles, back pain, constant trips to the bathroom, and restless sleeping. Sansa had once joked that she wouldn’t be surprised if the baby rode out on a Harley, due to how active it was inside her. Sansa took the discomfort as well as could be expected, but it pulled out of Tywin long-repressed memories of his first wife. He knew it was extremely rare for women to die in labor nowadays, but just like some people are irrationally afraid of roller coasters or air travel, Tywin was irrationally afraid of losing Sansa to the birthing bed.

During that time he found himself unfocused at work – though he’d cut his hours back even further to be there for Sansa. He would sleep restlessly, wake irritably, and take his frustration out on his staff. One day Sansa insisted he walk her down to the beach and he begrudgingly complied. When they got there, she looked at him sympathetically, _“Talk to me.”_

_“About what?”_

She rolled her eyes, _“About why you yelled at Addam for parking the Mercedes too close to the Porsche. He’s been your driver for what, 20 years? I think he knows how to park a car.”_

Tywin waved off her concern, _“I was having a bad morning. I’ll apologize to Addam.”_

 _“You’ve been having a lot of bad mornings lately. Are you starting to… are you having doubts?”_ Her eyes dropped and her right hand cradled her belly.

_“No! Don’t ever say that… don’t ever **think** that. It’s just…”_

Sansa pursed her lips in contemplation, _“You’re worried.”_

Tywin sighed, _“Yes.”_

_“About me? Or the baby?”_

_“Both. I know it’s highly unlikely, but if anything happened to you…”_ Tywin couldn’t finish the sentence, just shaking his head.

Sansa cupped his neck, _“I’m not going anywhere, Tywin. You’ve been with me at every appointment – this pregnancy is textbook. I’m healthy, the baby is healthy, and you’ve insisted on the best of the best in everything.”_

He nodded, _“I know. I know it. I just… I didn’t think Joanna would die, either.”_

Sansa nodded and looked down at his hands which were now resting on her belly protectively, _“I’ll be fine, Tywin. And if I’m not, well, I know you’ll do the right thing this time.”_

She didn’t need to tell him what the ‘ _right thing’_ was – it would be to love the baby with all his heart, and not withhold any affection or attention. He didn’t like to even think about that possibility but felt somehow reassured that they were talking about it. Going into this expecting nothing could possibly go wrong seemed like a good way to earn the Gods’ wrath. Tywin Lannister owed the universe a little humility, and he would gladly pay the debt.

He let Sansa’s confidence soothe him so much that when the doctor made a strange face during the ultrasound four days after Sansa’s due date, it felt like being yanked awake during a blissful dream. The doctor spoke about Sansa’s amniotic fluid being low, listing possible causes that Tywin didn’t even hear. Only certain terms jumped out: _Concerned. Better safe than sorry. Induce labor._

The panic was back with a vengeance and Tywin may have spun out of control if it weren’t for Sansa’s calm voice grounding him, _“It’s fine, Tywin. Think about it, I’m already at the hospital – every second of this labor and delivery will be monitored by nurses and doctors. No water breaking in the middle of lunch, or a nervous drive to the hospital at two in the morning. The baby isn’t in distress, neither am I… Do you hear me?”_

Tywin nodded, able to recognize the logic. This was a controlled situation from start to finish. He took a deep breath, kissed his wife on the head, and went to the hallway to phone her mother who further assured him that everything would be fine – she had the same issue with her youngest son, Rickon. Addam would bring her here along with Sansa’s overnight bag shortly. The doctor was going to give Sansa a tablet Tywin forgot the name of, then later tonight would begin administering a different drug via IV drip. They were moved to what would be the delivery room, and the waiting began. At first it was almost boring, then it was anything but. Thirty-eight hours after they hooked up the IV, Josephine Rose Lannister was born. Sansa had wanted a name that began with a “J” as a tribute to three people who were very important in their respective lives: Jon, Jaime, and Joanna. They both liked ‘Josephine’ – or Josie for short – and Tywin himself chose the middle name when his daughter stared up at him with a shock of red hair that no newborn had the right to have. Her eyes were grayish-blue at birth, and Tywin was hopeful that they’d stay that way – a perfect little duplicate of her mother – but after a few months they faded to a beautiful gold-green.

…

Breakfast now ready, Tywin lifted Josie out of the playpen and sat her on his lap at the table. The prospect of chocolate chip pancakes effectively distracted her from her innocent exploration of little Kevan. Though there was only eight months between them, that was a big difference at this age. Josie, at about 3 ½ years old, could speak in complete sentences, walk, run, and jump, feed and dress herself. Little Kevan could do some of these things as well, yet Josie seemed to notice the minor differences between them and think that meant she was a big kid and Kevan was still a baby. She would often stroke his head like he was a pet or watch in fascination when he completed basic tasks she assumed were beyond his skillset, like feed himself a strawberry. Tywin once told Sansa that Josie thought her cousin (technically nephew) was a simpleton and Sansa assured him it wasn’t personal – that’s just how all women think about all men.

Jaime scooped up Kevan as well, and together they sat eating chocolate chip pancakes on a Sunday morning. Sansa had insisted they give the household staff weekends off so their little family would have privacy. This meant Tywin did a lot of cooking and driving for the first time in decades. Though Sansa still occasionally found him waiting patiently in the back seat of his car – the one Addam typically chauffeured him around in – on a Saturday when they made plans to go somewhere. Of course, his wife being a little jokester, she wouldn’t correct Tywin but would sit in the driver’s seat, look at Tywin in the rearview mirror, and say _“Where to, Mr. Lannister?”_ The first time it happened Jaime cackled at Sansa’s retelling of the story and made a point to tease his father unendingly for the rest of the night. When putting away leftovers: _“Hey Dad, can you put the lettuce back in the fridge? That’s the big silver box with two handles on it.”_ Even Brienne had her fun, when she went in the house to get more napkins and Tywin asked her to bring out the salad tongs while she was at it. Brienne turned, stood straight in a waiter’s pose, and said, _“Certainly, sir. Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Lannister?”_

Unexpectedly, the front door swung open and Sansa appeared, dragging behind her carry-on suitcase, with her briefcase slung over her shoulder. “Do I smell pancakes?!” she called across the foyer.

“Mommy!” Josie leapt from Tywin’s lap and ran on chubby legs to greet Sansa – who’d only been gone since Thursday morning.

Tywin followed the toddler, pulling his girls into a hug, “You’re home early – that means it either went really bad or really good.”

“The latter,” Sansa beamed proudly. Five months after Josie’s birth Sansa had been anxious to get back to work. She reprised her role of negotiator, working for Casterly. Finally knowing one of the most critical responsibilities was in capable hands, Tywin partially retired. He worked from home, but only about 25 hours a week while Josie was napping or playing under the careful supervision of her part-time nanny. Sansa also did as much work as possible from home or from Casterly’s nearby head office, only traveling when it was absolutely necessary.

“Well then, shall I pop some champagne – turn our orange juice into mimosas?”

Sansa shrugged, “Why not?!”

After greeting Jaime, Brienne, and Kevan, Sansa took a seat and told them all about how eager the Caron family was to sell their estate – Nightsong – to Casterly. The large estate required full-time staff, which was expensive and posed more responsibility than the older couple felt like having at their age. Their only child lived in White Harbor with his family and the Carons were ready to live up there full-time so they could see their grandkids more often. Rather than trusting the estate to caretakers and managers, they wanted to sell – but only if all the buildings would be retained as-is.

Nightsong was a beautiful estate, just north of the Sea of Dorne and west of Shipbreaker Bay. The surrounding towns and cities were highly desirable vacation destinations. The prices of rentals and hotels in the area were astronomical, so Tywin and Sansa were willing to go a bit higher than usual in their bid. After tasteful renovations, Nightsong would become _the_ upscale resort in the Stormlands.

Tywin listened to his wife recount her time at Nightsong. Sansa had gone there prepared to win over the Carons, but right from the start it rather felt like _they_ were trying to win _her_ over… personally taking her on a long tour of the property, pointing out attractive features, sharing some of their family history. They also proudly showed her photos of their grandkids – the reason they were finally ready to move. Sansa showed them photos of Josie and Kevan – her daughter and grandson. At her words the older couple’s eyes widened until they remembered that Sansa and Tywin were married, then they chuckled without any sign of condescension.

Tywin was glad to hear that; he often worried that, despite Sansa’s reassurance, their age difference would become a source of concern or embarrassment for her. After four years of wedded bliss, despite knowing Sansa was very happy with their life, their home, their family, their _bedroom_ activities – he had days when he couldn’t help but worry that she would wake up, look at the wrinkled man next to her in bed, and realize she’d made a horrible mistake.

Of course, Tywin was a man of action. He wouldn’t sit back and let worry consume him; nor would he let his insecurity be known to his wife. She was too busy to have to spend time stroking Tywin’s ego. Tywin knew enough about women to know they found insecurity highly undesirable in men. So he used the vast resources at his disposal to keep himself fit and healthy. He upgraded the exercise equipment in his home gym. He had their live-in chef, Gerry, cook meals for him that were high in protein and vegetables, low in carbohydrate. Of course, Gerry knew Sansa was a carboholic and made sure there was some rice, pasta, bread, or potatoes at each meal for her. Josie certainly appreciated this as well, and Tywin was unexpectedly touched when they sat down for a nice meal of seared salmon and string beans only to find Josie’s plate also had a small helping of bright orange macaroni. Being as disciplined as her parents even at her young age, she would force down the salmon first, then the string beans, saving the best for last – the mac-n-cheese. Some nights, when Sansa had had a particularly stressful day, she’d find a generous helping of the orange concoction on her own dinner plate. She’d smile at Gerry gratefully, and he would simply shrug and say, _“Looks like you could use some of the hard stuff tonight, Miss Sansa.”_

That was another difference between Tywin and Sansa. The staff, even Addam, all called him Mr. Lannister. But Sansa insisted they call her by her first name. All complied except Gerry who included the ‘miss’ out of respect. Gerry was old-fashioned and couldn’t break these habits even if he wanted to.

Most surprising, however, was the way Tywin’s Head of Security treated Sansa. The man was big, gruff, and mean – and _very_ good at his job, which was ensuring the 100+ acre compound of Casterly Rock was secure at all times. In the 20 years he’d employed him, Tywin couldn’t remember the man speaking except to report on the security or activity of the estate. But Sansa seemed to take his silence as a challenge and made a point of engaging him in conversation whenever they crossed paths. Tywin could still remember Sansa’s hurt expression the first time he introduced her to Sandor. Walking away she whispered to Tywin, _“I don’t think he likes me.”_ Tywin could only chuckled, _“He doesn’t like anyone.”_ But that wasn’t acceptable for his outgoing little wife. She made a point to ask Sandor about his day, bring him glasses of lemonade or plates of cookies, thank him for his diligence, and generally be sweet to him.

Tywin thought back to the day she finally got through to him. Sansa had been reclining on a lounge chair while reading a book out in the gardens. At more than eight months pregnant she was cranky and exhausted nearly all the time. Tywin had just come out from his office to check on her when he paused mid-stride at the sight of Sandor helping Sansa up and out of the lounge chair. The man was chuckling as he teased her, “ _You looked like a turtle stuck upside down.”_ Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she stood, both hands pressed to the small of her back, _“First I’m an annoying little bird, now I’m a turtle? Make up your mind.”_ Sandor was taken aback by her uncharacteristically irritable reaction, and was quick to explain himself, _“I never said you were annoying; I just said you chirp all the time.”_

Sansa had waddled toward Tywin, smiling when she noticed him there and giving him a wink that Sandor couldn’t see from where he stood. As they walked back to their rooms Tywin leaned in, _“You shouldn’t tease the help, dear.”_ She waved off his concern, _“I realized that he likes being grumpy, and no matter how nice I was to him, he stayed grumpy. But if I’m grumpy, then he is nice.”_

Tywin laughed, something he did a lot with Sansa, _“You’re going to be a wonderful mother; you’ve already perfected reverse psychology.”_

…

“So, waddaya think?” Sansa’s voice snapped Tywin back to the present.

“Hmm? Oh, I think it all sounds very fair,” Tywin actually hadn’t heard a word she said about the Nightsong deal, but he trusted his wife’s judgment.

She scowled at him over her pancakes, “You weren’t even listening. I’ve been home all of ten minutes and you’re already tired of listening to me talk?”

He shook his head, “I was just thinking about how amazing my wife is,” he responded honestly.

Sansa couldn’t resist the temptation to smile, even as Jaime rolled his eyes with mock disgust.

“ _You_ his wife mommy!” Josie exclaimed as she jabbed at her pancake with a kiddy fork.

“Last I checked!” Sansa answered.

Josie beamed proudly. Jaime looked at her, “And who’s _my_ wife?”

“Bee-En!” she responded assuredly, earning smiles and giggled from the adults.

“Who Kevan’s wife?” she asked, genuinely curious. She seemed to understand that only men had wives but didn’t realize that little Kevan wasn’t yet considered a ‘man’ in this context.

“He’s too young to get married,” Brienne answered honestly, then grinned, “He can’t get married for at least forty years – it takes Lannister men that long to mature.”

Jaime grinned deviously, “Are you implying that I’m mature, Bee-En?”

Brienne raised a brow, “Good point. _Fifty_ years.”

“Like Daddy!” Josie declared victoriously, clearly not yet knowing the difference between fifty and sixty.

Tywin rolled his eyes and Jaime chuckled, “He _wishes_.”

Sansa waggled her eyebrows, “Ooh, a fifty-year old... I gotta get me one of them.”

Jaime threw his head back, always glad to laugh at his father’s expense. Kevan stared at his father in fascination. Jaime looked down at him lovingly, “You better never tease me the way I tease Grandpa.”

It was finally Tywin’s turn to have some fun, “Don’t forget I watch him every Monday and Tuesday… he is going to learn insults from the best of ‘em,” Tywin nodded at his grandson, earning a wide smile.

Jaime faked a shiver, “Your insults hit too close to home. Can I yield now?”

Sansa leaned against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “My fierce lion…” She turned back to her plate, “Anyway, the Carons said we’re welcome to come stay there if we want a little weekend getaway. Most of the guest houses are unoccupied. Actually, it seemed like they really _want_ us to come.”

“That’s because you’re charming, wife.”

She swatted him playfully, “So in three weeks I go back to sign the final contract. We could make a weekend out of it, just you and me. It’s quite a romantic setting. That is, if Josie’s godparents are willing to babysit.”

Tywin’s eyes widened. Josie had had playdates with Kevan, of course, and had slept over at Jaime and Brienne’s Lannisport penthouse twice in the past six months, but it was rare for Sansa to willingly part them from their daughter. The first sleepover Sansa cried until Tywin got Jaime on Facetime at midnight so she could see Josie’s sleeping face and know she was safe.

Brienne smiled coyly, “Sure, it’ll be good practice having her for a few days…”

Sansa’s eyebrow scrunched, “Practice for what?”

Jaime couldn’t contain his grin, “We’re pregnant again. Twelve weeks!”

Sansa jumped off her chair, Josie still in her arms, and hugged Brienne warmly while Tywin brought his son in for a hug – the kind that had been extremely rare until a certain redhead upended his life for the better.

Josie was perplexed, “Why everyone happy?”

Brienne explained to her, “Your uncle Jaime and I are going to have another baby.”

Josie clapped, “Another Kevan?!”

Brienne shook her head in amusement, “No. A different baby. Maybe a boy like Kevan, maybe a girl like you.”

At the prospect of another girl, Josie’s eyes widened, “A girl! A girl!”

Jaime put an arm around Brienne, “Well that’s what I tried for, but despite the rumors, Lannisters don’t always get _everything_ they want.”

Tywin pulled his own wife and daughter into his arms, “Speak for yourself, son.”


End file.
